The Harpoonist

From Susannah's "A Photo a Day," June 22, 2009

2009-06-23T22:15:00.001-04:00

A Photo a Day, June 22, 2009
Originally uploaded by Susannah Breslin

Shut up, Barbie.

Blogging is Dead. Long Live Blogging.

2009-06-16T10:30:00.001-04:00

Is it just me or does blogging these days seem tragically onerous? It's a little bit like living in a cabin in the woods, all by yourself. Your cabin may have been built with your own hands, and may be a cabin you're really very proud of, but ultimately it's a cabin that no one ever sees. It's just so far out in the woods, you know? No one sees the brick path you laid, the planters you filled with geraniums, the really neat pot hangers. No one sees your blog either.

It's lonely in the cabin. A person starts to feel like the only person in the woods. So we all come out to the lodge or the campfire, and we start chatting with the other mountain dwellers. Of course, when you're sitting around the campfire, you can't pontificate for hours on the state of your geranium planters. You have to keep it brief, keep it entertaining. That's Twitter. That's Facebook. That's Tumblr. Meet me at the campfire. I'll listen to what you have to say for thirty seconds at a time.

Here's the reality: I'm no longer visiting your blog. Well, that's not entirely true. I'm no longer visiting your blog just to visit. I will read your blog posts if one of these three conditions is met:

1. You tweet or Facebook a link to it that attracts my attention.
2. It appears in my reader, in which case I read it there, in my reader.
3. It turns up in a google search for something specific I want to know.

I don't care about your awesome page layout.
I don't care about your 18 inch blogroll.
I don't even care about your tag cloud.

No, not at all.

I do care, deeply, about your ability to write 140 words at a time in Twitter. I care about your ability to post funny or interesting Facebook updates. I care about your blog posts too, insofar as they fit into my reader, uniformly formatted with all the other posts by bloggers with which I've categorized you. I care about the words you write, but I no longer care about the context in which you write them. And really, I want to say to you, and to myself -- enough blogging. If you can say it in 140 words, you should. No more "What we did today." No more "Here's a funny anecdote." No more "Have you ever wondered about this question?" None of those things merit a blog post any more, and I'm not traipsing all the way out to your cabin to read that! Say it in 140 characters, right here at the campfire, or don't say it. Sorry!

It sounds extreme, and obviously, I'm not entirely done with blogging myself. So what kinds of things can I *not* say in 140 words? What topics do I actually feel justified blogging about, and what blog posts will I still trudge out to your blog to read?

1. Something that's long and funny.
2. Something that's long and useful.
3. Something that's long and contentious.

I might also blog something that's full of pictures, but it must also be either funny, useful, or contentious. Otherwise I can just Tweet or Facebook a link to the Flickr set.

That's really it.

Does this mean that we no longer have the attention span for blogs? Am I now supposed to say something wan and dire about the decay of this or that, or the disintegration of blah blah blah?

No. Because the writing isn't gone. The text isn't even really shorter. It's just that the internet has become more modular. Instead of the context of your layout, your blogroll, your About Me, your profile, your color scheme and the rest of it, you now exist in a larger context. You are now in the context of whatever feed that brings you to my screen. You are adjacent to everyone else. You are without context.

This isn't the decay of anything. It is a literary evolution. Now more than ever, content is king. The blog posts that people do write and pay attention to are less like journals, less like casual diaries, and more like articles -- meaty and complex. The blogs that survive Twitter and Tumblr and will be the ones with actual content that's accummulated into a body of work with merit. For the rest of the blogging population, Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, Flickr, and Friendfeed will more than suffice. This is a good thing, people. While "Blogging" may be alive and well, "blogging" is dead. Face(book) it: It's just not worth posting the small stuff anymore.

Tweeting this post? Here's a short URL: http://bit.ly/ry1o8

American Idol Recap: Top Three: Adam Lambert is Heartless

2009-05-12T22:46:00.003-04:00

America, there are three white guys standing before you. But you only hold two photographs in your hand. Only two of them will go on in the hopes of becoming America's Next Top Douchepouch. Which one will you choose?

You know, now that we're here, now that we're staring down the finale, I'm thinking maybe you should scrape the stage clean and start over, America. These puppets' felt noses are starting to pill. Their bright little jackets are frayed. As they stand there, shifting from foot to foot, showing their teeth, I realize I'm truly more interested in the commercials for Glee Club than I am in the show tonight. The contestants remaining are all treasured little darlings of the judges. They are predictable, solid performers who have nothing left in them besides obedience. Convenient, because this is the week they sing songs the judges have chosen for them. Three singers, four judges -- Randy and Kara have to collaborate.

DANNY GOKEY: For Danny, Paula chooses "Dance Little Sister" by Terence Trent D'Arby. Wow, I can't think of a less current song or a less relevant artist. Gokey sings it with moist scatting and damp foot-kicking and comes down to goofily play up to the judges like it's his farewell song. If James Brown married a beetle larvae and their baby was trying to sing a Terence Trent D'Arby song, that beetle child would be like, Gokey, I owned you just now. Paula and Simon get into some kind of wrestling match that results in Simon having a big smear of tan makeup directly over his right tit during the rest of the show.

KRIS ALLEN: Kara and Randy have chosen "Apologize" by One Republic. They predict that it will show his range, and his "dark melodic beauty." Unfortunately he proves completely incapable of hitting that high note. You know the one that recurs about a million times throughout the song? Totally inadequate voice for this assignment. He goes to a lower note, thrums simple chords on the piano, and looks beaten and a little stoned. Kara and Randy are disappointed that he didn't just come out on the stage with an acoustic guitar and sing it straight. The elephant in the room farts and bellows: "HELLO! HE CAN'T HIT THAT HIGH NOTE. WERE YOU LISTENING? ASS?" Simon: "Kara, I don't think you can blame him for the song, when you picked it." Kara: "Don't tell me about interpreting songs. Have you ever interpreted a song in your life?" Puff puff huff huff. They argue about whether he interpreted it right.

ADAM LAMBERT: Simon has chosen "One" by U2 for Adam to sing. Adam turns in a bizarre and unsavory performance. It starts low, sounding a bit like a song from Cats. Adam turns in a few very sweet and surprising notes. I'm thinking, damn, if he keeps it kinda creepy and low like this, he's going to blow me away. But then he starts belaying it, slaying it, and fileting it. He goes higher, squealier, squintier, and then unrolls his gruesomely long tongue, and ruins it. Completely. The judges love it with deep abiding love. I kinda just hate it. Adam reminds us kindly that the lyrics in the song are really beautiful. Yeah, but you delivered them like the front man of an eighties hair band. Sorry, Adam.

After we come back from the break, Ryan lets us know that in the last two years Idol has raised $140 million for Africa, and really, everyone feels like that's enough. No "Idol Gives Back" this year. Idol is resuming its policy of only taking. What a relief! Africa is grateful for the mosquito nets it got.

DANNY GOKEY: Did you forget last week that Danny Gokey's wife is dead? Well she is. Completely dead. And he *really* loved her too. Isn't that sad?

KRIS ALLEN: Kris Allen, allowed to make his own song choice now, chooses "Heartless" by Kanye West. I've heard Kanye's version on SNL, and on the radio, and I strangely like it, although this is not usually my thing. Kris Allen's version was actually really cool! He did it completely straight, with just the acoustic guitar and his own voice. It was very good. The judges love it. I love it. It's Kris Allen! Maybe he can bump out Gokey to edge into the finals. I hope so.

ADAM LAMBERT: Adam sings "Cryin'" by Aerosmith. He picked it because he can. He sang it because once he had called everyone there, worked out the arrangement, led the judges to expect something magical, invited a throng of people with hand-lettered signs, he had to go ahead and deliver. No one was surprised. The judges predict he will be in the finals, but Simon takes the time to remind us to vote, vote, vote for the white man in the leather jacket, who looks like he owns it, who looks like he can be the next gay rock star that girls can't wait to fuck.

This season it seemed like the producers might have wanted an Amy Winehouse, a Duffy, a funky edgy girl Idol. But failing that, they'll take another rocker. Whatever.

Best performance: Kris Allen's "Heartless"
Worst performance: Adam Lambert's "One"

Going home: PLEASE GOKEY PLEASE

American Idol: Top Five: Jamie Foxx Loves Everyone to Distraction

2009-04-28T22:56:00.004-04:00

I have Idol fatigue. Do you? No? Are you panting for more? Well, that's what you're going to get tonight. More. Not better or different. Not fresh or unusual. Just more.

Tonight's theme: Songs that would sound like Christmas songs, if they had Christmas lyrics. Cruise ship standards. Brat pack hits.

Tonight's mentor: Jamie Foxx.

KRIS ALLEN: Let's start out the show with a little hysterical hyperbole. Jamie Foxx loves Kris Allen so much! Kris Allen is his number one. If this doesn't work out, Jamie Foxx will marry Kris Allen and take him away from all this meaningless drudgery. As if to underscore his deep love of Kris, Jamie Foxx stops talking and grabs his own breasts. Kris sings "The Way You Look Tonight" in a super-boring, mind-numbing karaoke way. The judges rip out their hair and canter around the stage, rhapsodizing about his impeccable phrasing and charm. Randy, Kara, and Paula tear their clothes and pile ashes on themselves in humble adoration. They're not worthy. They abased themselves by urinating on each other in shame before him. Simon calls it, appropriately, a little wet.

ALLISON IRAHETA: Jamie Foxx LOVES Allison. She is his favorite, for sure. She sings "Someone to Watch Over Me" in a manner that would be ludicrous and repulsive in a 27 year old, but in a 17 year old is apparently precocious and inspiring? Or that's what the judges say. The judges peel their skins off and create little Allison dolls to sell to the crowd, decorating them with their own teeth and hair. It's an Allison love-fest. She is the best ever.

After the break, Matt Giraud will sing "My Funny Valentine." Can I go to bed yet? I swear I will put my eye out with this laptop if he winks.

MATT GIRAUD: Matt is like, hey, I wore a fedora before a fedora was appropriate. Yeah, that's not a point of pride, fool. Jamie Foxx takes one listen and then tears off his head and fills it with candy for Matt Giraud. That's the least he can do to prove the intensity of his love: create a bloody, brainspeckled candy dish for Matt's personal use. Matt sings pinkly and with a weird forcefulness, like he's trying to convince us of something related to the border with Mexico. Surprisingly, the judges actually manage to critique him. Maybe America will be allowed to actually vote him off this week! He was brought back and selected in the wild card show, then saved by the "save," and now... oh... wait. Simon calls him absolutely brilliant. I have a feeling Matt will be back to wear his Fedora yet again, maybe during techno-pop week or "white guy brawling songs" week.

DANNY GOKEY: Ace mentor Jamie Foxx needs to creepily violate Gokey's personal space in order to make him be more pure and real. Seriously, he like gets right up in his grill. He reports that Gokey's breath is fresh. Weird moment. Awkward. Gokey looks like he feels hit on, the opposite of pure and real. He sings "I'm Gonna Love You" and sounds like an old man. At first I think he will be denied his favorite technique of shouting his way through from the chorus to the end, but then he gets hollering about "rain or shine" and peels his lips back for the big ending as usual. Randy pulls out a record contract and begs Danny to sign on, eager to do an entire album of just minutely diverse versions of this same song. Kara wraps her neck around and around a stripper pole, seductively mouthing, "Gokaaaay." Paula demands that Danny suckle on one of her teats. Simon looooooves Danny.

DUDE, AM I CRAZY: These performances are just so completely unremarkable. Are they just setting us up for Adam Lambert? What can he possibly do to top the way the judges perceive the other contestants have performed tonight? What adjectives and analogies are left to describe him?

ADAM LAMBERT: Adam is going to sing "Feeling Good." Jamie Foxx predicts that our heads will fall off. Adam wears a white satin suit, rides in on the glowing red stairs, and delivers the only performance of the night that couldn't have been found on any cruise ship in the Caribbean. A little Freddy Mercury. The judges' heads all fall off. And the show is over.

Best performance: Adam Lambert
Worst performance: Matt Giraud
Going home: Matt Giraud

Or whatever. Seriously, the relentless lovefest is getting so old. Am I wrong?

American Idol: Top Seven Take Two: Disco Mild Blaze

2009-04-21T22:16:00.004-04:00

Say hi to your judges! Hi, judges! Randy points heavenward as if to say, "It's not about me, it's about God." Then he confusingly gives the UK version of the middle finger, as if to say, "Go eff yourself, America." No, the sign for peace is not a palindrome. When you turn it around it means something else. Kara in a pink homecoming dress, Paula in a floral cardigan, and Simon in an undershirt. Tra la la, isn't it all wonderful? Do we have to sit through six confused amateurs, poorly produced and ludicrously dressed to get to some Lambert?

LIL ROUNDS: Lil sings Chaka Khan's "I'm Every Woman." She's wearing a black spandex cat suit and a super funky wig. The judges have been trying to get her to sing something like this for weeks, but then they hate her for it. Yeah, okay, it was a steamy mess. Only Paula throws her a bone, saying she had laryngitis yesterday and has made an amazing recovery. As Lil listens to the judges' comments, she crumples like a dropped puppet. Then Simon says she's going home for sure -- this is her last week. Someone from the crowd yells angrily and the camera shows us some variety of Rounds relative who is saying unmentionable, I'm pretty sure, to the lip-readers in the audience. Poor Lil. Pimped early, dropped late.

KRIS ALLEN: Kris sings "She Works Hard for the Money" with a Latin folk vibe. Oh my goodness, somebody has changed up a genre! How shocking! They even drag out that drum that you sit on to play it, and bring all the percussion right downstage. Kris sings kinda like a fuzzheaded little cat or something. Sometimes he yawns and a note comes out. Kara repeats the perpetual lie with her overworked, ruthlessly articulating lips, "Oh, wow, you took a HUGE risk with that performance! And it paid off BIG TIME." Yeah, a giant risk. Because last year's winner failed utterly in switching genres on songs. And this year's front runner is having terrible trouble with his "Looky, I made it my own" performances. So yeah, big risk. Trust me, when they bring out the drum you sit on, accusations of blistering originality are right around the corner.

DANNY GOKEY: Danny sings "September" in a super dorky way. You know what, it just feels like everyone has given up. They're done. They're on the tour. Lambert is the winner. They don't even care anymore, they just want to get to the part where they get a few weeks off to take horse tranquilizers and lie around. Gokey's dancing is just beyond laughable. Gruesome even. When they go to "Danny's friends and family" the camera picks out four undead girlbots in sundresses. Who are these people? The camera visits them again and again. Are they more Cheesecake Factory conquests? Danny has an entourage that takes its ranch vinaigrette on the side. They droop and leer at the camera. The judges fawn and gush about him. Kara's lips disengage from her body, crawl down her front, swing out from the microphone and land on Gokey's scruffy chin, grabbing for purchase among his weedy little beard scraps, and landing at last on his pink, thin mouth hole. We know the judges love Danny.

ALLISON IRAHETA: Allison arrives on the stage riding a glistening chrome staircase illuminated with red bulbs and bathed in the glow of the fiery jumbotrons. She is a rocker! Take a memo! They're trying to help her out of the bottom three, I guess, but then Randy says, "You're one of the best singers in this competition." Really? One of the best? There are only seven left. Out of like thousands, hundreds, dozens, etc. So, really, one of the best -- that's overwhelmingly generous. The judges quibble. Do they like the arrangement? Or not? Who cares. They drag out the old lauds and honors -- she's authentic, she's genuine, she's real.

We are going to commercial BUT -- THERE IS ADAM LAMBERT! He's in the crowd -- I see his HEAD! I see his smiling head all wreathed in hair product and favoritism!

ADAM LAMBERT: Adam is pinching off a little Elvis tonight, and I totally want that snake ring on his pinky finger, microphone hand. He sings a really tortured, eye squeezing, look-at-my-pulsing-soul-seething-with-angst version of "If I Can't Have You." An unremarkable song that has now has all of the corpuscles wrung out of it forcibly, in the meaty fists of our favorite son. The judges froth and foam. Kara shakes her head in fake, contrived disbelief. By the way, Kara shouldn't wear her haid pulled back -- it makes her look like a fetal monkey. The kids love it. Paula confesses tearfully that she could feel Adam's pain. Simon calls it brilliant. Whatever! I didn't actually like it that much. So!

MATT GIRAUD: Matt bores the shit out of everyone with a predictable, crotch-touching, Whiny McPulerson version of "Stayin' Alive." Randy searches around for something mildly inaudible to say, and decides to opine that this group of seven is one of the most talented groups they've ever had. Oh, really? Out of seven groups, this is *one of the* most talented? I'm overcome with awe. Matt in a black straw fedora and burgundy leather jacket. Just the most completely unattractive man I have ever seen. Just that.

ANOOP DESAI: Anoop sings "Turn Down the Lights." I don't understand the song, the pink v-neck sweater under the taupe business suit, the judge's comments, or the show itself anymore. I am utterly, completely bored by Anoop, to the point that I clicked away from this window to investigate an incoming mail alerting me to a auto-thanks-for-the-follow-DM on Twitter. Just to see if maybe there was anything else there besides the autothanks. Equivalent of changing channels to watch the channel guide.

BEST PERFORMANCE: I didn't like any of them.
WORST PERFORMANCE: Matt Giraud.
GOING HOME: Matt Giraud and Lil Rounds

American Idol Top Seven: Movie Night with Quentin Tarrantino

2009-04-14T21:40:00.003-04:00

Apparently Tarrantino is a genuine Idol fan. Well, kids, it's been a long time since I thought about Quentin Tarrantino at all. How about you? I did see that unlikely bit of movie where the girl flops around on the hood of a car. I also saw the snowy scene in one of the Kill Bills -- that was pretty memorable. I think the last time I actually laid eyes on his physical person was that scene in Four Rooms where he cuts of his finger, or some other person's finger. Tarrantino is aging kind of angular. But also doughy and full of sweat. Like that guy from Office Space who is missing his paycheck. Oh I know, yes, I understand the significance of QT. But he is, to quote a movie he did not direct, so fucking eager.

ALLISON IRAHETA: Quentin Tarrantino's mentoring for Allison was beyond genius: "Okay, that was good, but now I want you to sing it again while I'm sitting in a chair." According to him, that did the trick in rehearsal. Unfortunately for Allison, in spite of many many people in chairs in front of her during her performance, she still smelled a little off. There was *one note* that was good, and that's all she could muster. The rest was kind of tired, like she was up late last night, threw on a shirt dress over some red pants, and rolled onto stage. Paula loved her, and Simon calls her the girl's last hope.

Commercial break: If you cut your shower down by two minutes, you can give a needy child a pair of shoes.

ANOOP DESAI: I feel confused that Anoop is still on the show. My confusion is not assuaged by Anoop's outfit tonight: a suit jacket with leather varsity jacket sleeves grafted onto it. Maybe Anoop is still around to promote someone's weird zombie-prep clothing line? Tarrantino earnestly requests that Anoop deliver "Look Into My Eyes" by Bryan Adams (yes, Bryan Adams) with a little grit, a little urgency, a little heart. Anoop decides to go with the castrated spaniel delivery instead, the only thing bold about him is ignoring Tarrantino's advice. Dan says, "I hope Tarrantino goes up on stage and cuts his head off." The judges loved it.

ADAM LAMBERT: Adam wows Tarrantino in practice. He is just really looking forward to the performance. No criticism. Adam sings, "Born to be Wild." They're giving him, dude, seriously, such better arrangements, such better mixing, there were effects on his vocal that no one else gets -- it is kind of sad really for the other people, not that they deserve anything better. Paula: "You dare to dance in the path of greatness. Fortune rewards the brave, and you're one of the bravest contestants I've ever witnessed, ever." Wow.

COLORLESS MOLE: It's Bryan Adams night! Tonight on Idol! Matt sings "Tell me if you ever really really luhved a wuhmuhn?" Tarrantino was like, "Colorless Mole, I never really have. I'm afraid of them, a little bit. But I'm okay with that. And don't lose the lyric." Matt just makes me kind of ill. The judges aren't in love. Kara mysteriously criticizes him for choosing a rock song? Matt nervously bites his lip and rubs his meaty thigh.

DANNY GOKEY: Gokey is going to sing "Endless Love" either to his dead wife or maybe to that girl Pam he was going to hook up with at the Cheesecake Factory? No, it's to his dead wife, as he underscores by looking up (into heaven) at the end of his song. Oh, the brutal vote-baiting. Brutal. Gokey is going full in on the dead wife treatment, since Lambert is so undeniably winning the YouTube battle. In the tape, Tarrantino had something really interesting to say. He points out that with a really emotional song like this, hand gestures and arm waving can kind of dissipate the intensity. He instructs Danny to sing it with his hands in his pockets, and let all the emotion come out his face. Well, I dunno if he managed to do it in rehearsal, but in his performance, he's waving and gesturing like he's trying to beat off bees. Seems like another great time for Tarrantino to decapitate someone, but... he is probably still a fan. The judges love the Gokey of it all.

KRIS ALLEN: Is he still here? He's singing a song I haven't heard from the movie "Once," which I haven't seen. He makes kind of a mess of it. It's one of those Scrubs-type songs. He does a lot of falsetto and a lot of wandering around the pitch looking strained and as if he's possibly dying. Total fail.

LIL ROUNDS: Lil is going to sing "The Rose." Again, Tarrantino actually has really good advice, and a good violent analogy too. I had my doubts with the whole "Let's try it with me in a chair" routine, but he's actually been way more useful than the musical icon mentors on this season. Lil sings all over the place, very wobbly and desperate. Now look at her on stage: that stupid magenta light, one spot, light rock arrangement, the usual. Whereas Adam Lambert gets chorused, reverbed, strobe lights, head-banging back-up singer, the works. Poor Lil. She coulda been there.

Best Performance: Let's just say, for the sake of variety, Adam Lambert.
Worst Performance: Kris Allen
Going Home: Kris Allen

I could be totally wrong, but I think Lil is still safe.

American Idol Top 8 Recap: The Search is Over, I am a Sucker for 80s Ballads

2009-04-07T23:36:00.004-04:00

It's baby picture night as the Idols sing hits from the year they were born. In a long, awkward, interesting-only-to-them sequence, we see baby pictures of the judges and Ryan. Wow, embarrassing. They used to be BABIES, everyone! Tee hee! Babies! What, no mentors again? Doesn't any other aging superstar have an album to pimp? No?

DANNY GOKEY: Danny sings a 1980 version of "Stand By Me" -- cheater. It's Lite FM all the way, first with strings and then with wo-wo-wos and bongos. Paula is dancing! The screen behind him matches his shirt! He's almost scatting, and I don't mean jazz stylings, I mean what you call bear poop when you're hanging out with Aragorn. The judges reused their comments from the last four shows. Danny Gokey is so awesome!

KRIS ALLEN: Kris' mother opines mysteriously, "We'd be just as happy as if his dream was to be a taxi cab driver." Unpack THAT sentence, Seacrest. Kris is going to sing "All She Wants to Do is Dance." Am I officially old when I can remember roller skating to the songs from the years these kids were born? Whatever. Kris has planted himself in the middle of the crowd just like Matt Giraud did last week, so there's a little knot of excited, brightly-lit women clustered around him and his electric guitar. In spite of all this pheromonic activity, the song is utterly bloodless. Kara says it sounds like "jazz funk homework" -- for once, I find her very perceptive. Paula calls him likeable. OUCH.

LIL ROUNDS: Lil takes her tape time to clarify that her name is Lil Rounds. Revelatory. Then she emerges in a leather vest and completely ridiculously amazing shoes and proceeds to rip the bowels out of "What's Love Got to Do With It?" After she's gutted it, the band drains its blood and leaves it in a mall parking lot. The arrangement sounds like the background music for a puzzle video game, you know one where the shapes fall peacefully from the top of the screen and little colored baubles congregate or quietly explode or disappear or whatever. Paula didn't like it, called it karaoke. Simon called it copycat, and said we've lost Lil.

ANOOP DESAI: Anoop apologizes onstage for the completely shocking and offensive behavior he exhibited last week during his critique. Wait, I don't remember anything about this, and I was there, oh, was I there? He says he was not being himself and he is just mortified and ashamed. Nobody seems to remember it, even Kara, who was the victim of his forgettable transgression. Anoop sings Cyndi Lauper in a spring green cardigan. It's "True Colors" but as if John Mayer was singing it, with John Mayer's nose stuffed with chewing gum. Whatever. The judges like it. Really, not a bit of that song was in tune. Paula: "You did show your true colors, and it was like a rainbow." Wow.

Hey, fuckers, don't vote til the end of the show! Or we'll come after you!

SCOTT MCINTYRE: Scott appears with an electric guitar and an amp, and sings, "The Search is Over" by Survivor, from 1985. Okay, American Idol, I give up. You found me. At least you found where I was at 13. I love this song, and I always will, and it has to do with a very intense tweeny crush and high school gym class, and this is not something I can control or explain, okay? It's irrational, like most of high school was. This song, on the radio, can still make me get all kinda dreamy and faraway. OKAY I ALSO FEEL THIS WAY ABOUT "THE GLORY OF LOVE" BY PETER CETERA. Now you know. So go ahead and poke a stick in my soft, fluffy underbelly. Scott's guitar-playing is awful and the mix is so dire the twangy guitar sound just kind of sits on top of the rest of the band. The judges hate it, and I think, now, that Scott should definitely win this whole show.

ALLISON IRAHETA: I didn't listen to Allison's tape, I was too busy trying to ascertain if it's really been 24 years since that Survivor song was a hit. Ow. She appears with freshly pinked-out hair and sings "I Can't Make You Love Me" by Bonnie Raitt -- a dangerous song choice for someone who's spent a little time in the bottom three recently. This is one of those songs it's easy to go out singing. Yet year after year they always sing it. The arrangement is elderly, the delivery is rough, the song is boring and inappropriate. The judges rave and scream about how original she is, how she reminds them of Kelly Clarkson, how she made it her own, how it was so young and vibrant. Allison looks confused, as if she knows something's fishy in this pond. Kara says, and I quote, "Let's go make a record!"

MATT GIRAUD: The funnest words ever: "Let's go back to 1985 and learn a little bit more about Matt!" Actually, it does turn out to be funny: We see footage of Matt being a saucy angel in a school play. What a little eye-roller! Then he sings "Part Time Lover" by Stevie Wonder. More scatting, this time in a fedora. Randy says, "Vocally, one of the best of the night." Faint praise, considering what's come before him. Paula and Kara make up for it by screaming and fist-pumping and stampeding around their desk making wildebeest noises. Gross.

There's only one Idol left! The only one that matters. Unfortunately my DVR cut off at 9:01 and I do not know what Adam Lambert did or did not do. It's a pimp spot backfire! Classic!

Best performance: I'm tempted to say Adam Lambert but my honest heart demands that I say Scott McIntyre. Come on, did anyone else have a special memory attached to this miserable excrescence of a song? Dammit.

Worst performance: Anoop Desai

Going home: Allison Iraheta

American Idol: Top Nine; ITunes Week: Adam Lambert Brings the Funk

2009-03-31T22:48:00.005-04:00

This is their moment! Paula is wearing awesome pink bling! Kara is smiling with her mouth hanging open! Someone in the audience is distractedly pulling the limbs off a child!

Tonight is More Money for ITunes week! The Idols will be mentored by the equipment in the studio where they tape Ryan's radio show (it's the show that Dick Clark started!) where Ryan demonstrates how he says, "This is American Idol!" into a microphone. Wow, at the push of a button, music comes out of the speaker! It's like magic, but really predictable unawesome magic. This week, our singers can pick any song that's popular on ITunes, with "popular" defined as "available."

ANOOP DESAI: Anoop sings an Usher song. Who is Usher? Is he that cartoon dog with the square head? Anoop is wearing a grimly ill-fitting black suit with the collar turned up. The epaulets are made of Rainbow Brite puffy stickers, all in a row, and there's a chain around one armpit. His shirt has a Care Bear on it (the one with the raindrops on its gut). I don't know the song, I don't want to be glared at by Anoop, and I have a feeling the backup singers could give us a better show than this horse's ass. What a staggering tool is Anoop Desai. What a quivering, gelatinous mass of toolage is this eyebrow waggler. The judges are unimpressed. Anoop defends himself by clarifying that their opinions are their opinions, adding that his butt has a hole in it, like most other people's butts, and that he wants to be an R&B artist. He is wearing a sparkly dog tag when he says all this. Can anyone else make sense of this man's wardrobe? It just mystifies me, but not in a good way, in a, like, how did the corpse of a hedgehog get stuck in my garbage disposal way.

Tom Colicchio wants me to keep it simple. I do not want Listerine to do six things. Just one thing.

Shock: Every song you hear is available on ITunes!

MEGAN JOY: Megan doesn't care, she's singing Bob Marley's "Turn Your Lights Down Low." This is finally, she says, a song she really loves. She sings it in her own special twitchy gutteral way, channeling Katherine Hepburn and also that lady at the old folks' home that won't shut up and keeps looking at you with that knowing wink, like, we understand each other. But you don't know her. And she smells like cabbage. Megan (not the hypoethetical old lady) is wearing chains and necklaces all over her collarbones, a teal corset top, and jeans. Kara doesn't like it. Paula suggests she sit on a stool with a spotlight and sing a sensitive ballad that rips the heart out of everyone. Simon calls it boring and indulgent. Randy says it took forever. They encourage her to sing Amy Winehouse, Duffy, and Adele.

DANNY GOKEY: Danny tells Randy that last week he had to sing his fifth choice of song. This is not the first time, this season, that Idols have referenced the song choice process, and suggested that they aren't completely in control of the song they sing. It's almost like you start questioning the way they're grilled and blamed about song choice every week, but then you don't, because the shiny lights are so sparkly, you forget about it. He sings "What Hurts the Most" by Rascal Flatts. Maybe the mix is off tonight -- everyone sounds kind of wobbly and dim. Danny never quite finds the pitch or the beat. The song is another reminder that his wife died, and that is pretty sad, but... if he sings "The Dance" by Garth Brooks, he is fired. This is the last "my wife died" song of the season. The next one he sings, the floor opens up and he gets dropped into the basement full of wolves and scary clowns. The judges love him. He responds in his squinty oh-golly way.

ALLISON IRAHETA: Allison practices the guitar in her tape, and we get to see her chewed, wrecked, nasty black fingernail polish. Endearing. She appears in a deconstructed prom dress and Pat Benatar hair, awkwardly stumbles through the first guitary part of "Don't Speak" by No Doubt, with the guitar. Then she flips it around to the back to rasp through the song holding the microphone. The guitar was a mistake. I hate this song. Allison looks like a muppet. No one can understand her clothes. Simon calls it "dressy-uppy." Allison is actually a 45 year old mother of three, she works in telemarketing, smoke three packs of Camels a day, and vacuums her trailer in heels. Vote!

SCOTT MCINTYRE: Don't go changing to try and please him. You've never let him down before. Just lead him over to the piano, so he can smile in your general direction. Scott has new fancy George Michael hair and jacket, and sings Billy Joel. I want to believe he is wearing a t-shirt under there. He is, right? The piano is bangy, the singing is loungey, and his sister is so excited she's bouncing out of her headband. Kara loves the eighties hair. Paula is proud. Simon calls it his best performance. I have been told to stop making fun of the blind guy, so... I will say nothing about the waving. The weird zombie waving. But if you saw the show, you know.

I do not like the overdubbed exaggerated eating sounds on Hardee's commercials.

MATT GIRAUD: Matt reminisces about being in the bottom three last week. No one cares at all. We're just waiting for him to get voted off and then release some precious little album on some sweaty little label and someone will call it "Intense!" and then he will go back to playing standards in a piano bar. Dear Matt, if you have to wear outerwear onstage, do yourself the favor of buying a jacket that fits. "Fits" means the sleeves go at least down to your wrists. Jackets that do not go down to your wrists do not "fit." Ill-fitting jackets counteract intensity. All Best, LYDIA. Matt sings a song by The Fray (you know, like in Scrubs!), with the keyboard set up in the middle of the crowd. The judges say it's like that horrible time he sang Coldplay, and that he needs to choose between the rock side of pop and the R&B side. Between the resentful glow of his colorless mole and the apologetic sheen of his giant pink gums, I don't know what to think either.

LIL ROUNDS: Lil has chosen "I Surrender" by Celine Dion, and between her rained on hair and her aging diva gown, she seems like she's going to play it completely boring. She sings it straight Celine for about the first half and then she lets it rip a little bit, funking it up Lil style. Pretty strong -- I was impressed. The judges don't want her to be adult contemporary, though. They want her to stay young. Ryan brings Lil's daughter to Randy so she can punch him for the criticism, but she gives him a big, adorable hug and Lil cries. That should be good for a few thousand votes.

ADAM LAMBERT: Adam is singing my favorite song, "Play That Funky Music (White Boy)" tonight. He does it kinda Lenny Kravitz, but more Aerosmith. Lots of screaming and tongue-waggling and strobe lighting. Whatever! Okay, it's a super-cheesy song, and there is NO WAY on earth to do it without cheese. Adam does cheese in a way that acknowledges the corniness and then flips it up. The judges like it. It's really weird that he chose it, given that he could have chosen, apparently, anything in the whole world, but yeah. He says he had fun and salutes the band.

KRIS ALLEN: Kris confesses that he is trying to make one of those special moments with "Ain't No Sunshine." Kris, don't you know, when you want to make one of those special moments, you need a string quartet on stage with-- oh, there's the string quartet! Awesome! The moment should be along any moment now -- WOOPS, there it is! He knows, he knows, he knows, he knows. The performance is strained, full of anxiety, like if a chimp got up on stage to play the keyboard, and we all sat there kind of listening to the chimp play the piano, but mostly just worrying that he was going to poop or something. The chimp did not poop but he also didn't blow it out the box metaphorically. Kara has three words for him: "That is artistry." Wow, did you really need "That is"? You could have just given him one word. They really want to keep this fuzzheaded poser in the competition -- they gave him the pimp spot and a string quartet, and yet he still comes off like someone's earnest, nervous brother who wonders if you got a chance to listen to his demo yet.

Best performance: My newly refurbished icemaker.
Worst performance: Anoop Desai

Going home: Matt Giraud

It seems like Anoop has some kind of voting mojo that we mere mortals cannot understand. He should have been gone after "Beat it" and yet, here he is. Megan, also, has a strong fan base. Matt is a lame poser -- he was a wild card, nobody likes him, and I think this is his week to damply depart.

Related posts: American Idol

The Conservatives Against Conservation Association takes on Earth Hour!

2009-03-28T21:16:00.005-04:00

1. Earth Hour is a global demonstration where people turn off their lights and appliances for an hour to raise awareness about global warming and plant the idea of energy conservation in people's heads.

2. Conservatives come back with Human Achievement Hour, in which people turn all their lights and appliances ON, to show how stupid liberals are.

3. Twitter channel #tcot becomes flooded with gleeful reports of "My block is lighted up like a Christmas tree!" and "I even have my car and motorcycle running in my driveway!"

4. I become aware of this, and start tweeting sassy tweets like "#earthhour #tcot Liberals are saving money tonight. Conservatives are spending money. Who's dumb?" and "Join us in bright lights! We're the Conservatives Against Conservation Association! #caca #earthhour #tcot"

5. Somebody RETWEETS my thing about Conservatives Against Conservation, as if it was a serious post.

6. People start actually using the hashtag #caca which was created by me to be funny and stupid.

Would You Friend Your Kids on Facebook?

2009-03-27T09:54:00.009-04:00

Some of us parents lead a double life. Not the exciting kind where you end up in Ankara with no recollection of how you got there or why you're wearing only one stiletto, but a double life of the mind. We make our mom faces, wear our mom clothes, and use our mom vocabulary. Even those of us who are "cool moms" create a mom persona -- it doesn't have to be all braided hair and cookie dough. My mom persona is constructed out of different parts: part is my own personality, part is what I think mothers should look and sound like, part is how my mother was, and another part is a new creation -- something that came out of me after my kids came along, that wasn't there before. I like being a mom.

However, I do have a separate piece of my brain that's entirely personal. This piece is a survivor from a time before my children; maybe part single girl, part newlywed, maybe even part teenager. I try to let it change and grow apart from my "mom" self, so that I don't just become the mom and abandon the real me. So that I don't look around when my kids leave for college and realize I have nothing to do but wait for grandchildren. Writing novels is part of that separate piece, and blogging is part of the separate piece (peace?) and recently Facebook, for me and a lot of moms I know, has become part of it.

Yes, we've always had our email lists and phone calls, but there's something about posting OMFG, I need them to be asleep. Must. have. quiet. as one of my friends did recently, that provides instant gratification. You wouldn't write an email to say "Why is it that my children think they need to physically help me open a pack of gum?" But if you Facebook it or Twitter it, you'll have five or six amusing answers within a few minutes, and nowadays really that's all you want. Email has become the new snail mail -- it feels cumbersome, antiquated, and formal, like you need a really good reason to do it, especially to a whole group. Facebook and Twitter is where you go for instant luv now. To shout out to your mom homies, and hear a "hellz yeah" back. Of course, you can't shout out to your mom homies with the children in the room.

But it's not just about complaining about your kids. As more people find and use Facebook, your friend list becomes a synthesis of your entire life. You have high school friends, college friends, ex-boyfriends, professional acquaintances, people who only knew you when you played in a rock band, people who only knew you when you were a cool writer chick, etc. Putting all these people in one place is perplexing enough, without introducing them en masse to your children, who may not know that Mommy wrote a kind of edgy experimental book back in the 90s, who may not see Mom as a rocker, who have no concept of any previous life that Mom may have led, or really anything that existed before they, the children, came into the world.

Which is why you get posts like this, from another friend: I need to post something funny but don't want any speshul snowflaks to see. To which I responded: Whisper it in groanupps langwadj. And another mom added: We must find a way around this... Well, don't we still have email? Don't we still have the telephone? Yeah, we do. But since we've tasted the sweet, sweet nectar of Facebook and Twitter, we can't go back to the old way of doing things. Anyone want to run out and register Mombook.com?

To recap, there are three reasons to NOT friend your kids on Facebook:

1. No more bitching about the kids or reporting the funny things they do/say.
2. Kids get to meet Ralph the pierced stoner and experience all his video posts, then ask me how I know this Ralph guy and what those people are doing with that garden hose.
3. Now I have to edit everything I say to make sure it's safe for the dinner table.

But some of us have kids old enough to have their own Facebook accounts. High schoolers, even. So, are there any reasons TO friend your kids?

1. Know what your kids are up to. This was actually the reason I joined Facebook in the first place, and my first two friends were my two teenaged stepchildren. See -- it works both ways. Maybe someplace on LiveJournal there's a post called "Would You Friend Your Mom on Facebook?"
2. If they ask you to friend them, and you don't friend them, then that feels mean. And it is mean. There's just no way around it. You don't want to say "I won't be your friend" to your child, even if you explain it in the kindest possible way.
3. Maybe, just maybe, it's a good thing for the kids to see their moms in this context.

For example: Yes, Mom has friends. Yes, Mom makes snarky comments about politics to people I've never met. No, I don't get all the inside jokes on her Flair corkboard. No, I didn't know she went to college in three different places. Seeing mom in the context of other adults, in the context of the great big world, and witnessing some interactions that have nothing to do with children, nothing to do with them, might just be good for our kids, especially the older ones. I have no solution to the privacy problem or our need for an "Adults Only" zone that's just as fun and immediate as Facebook, but until we figure it out, I am pretty sure that friending your kid is the only thing you can do.

What do you think?

Related post: Twitter, Tumblr, and Tags: You Are Still All Alone

American Idol Top Ten Recap: Motown Night Droops and Sags

2009-03-25T23:04:00.009-04:00

Are the judges to enjoy their big dramatic entrance every episode now? That wasn't just a special treat for them at the beginning of the finals? Look. They are not basketball stars. They are not game show contestants. They are people that sit in chairs, and sitting in a chair does not require a big spotlit entrance parade. Okay? Actually, Paula looks really awesome tonight in a tutu -- and straightened hair. She's making Kara look kinda washed out and elderly, in that get-up. Go Paula.

Hey, it's Motown night! Would anyone know if they reused the old montage from past years' Motown nights? I doubt it. The idols met Barry Gordy in the real actual Motown (museum) and then accessed Smoky Robinson for some mentoring. Smokey Robinson visits the Idol house, which has a winding stair and sparkling gold railings. The Idols

Matt Giraud: Since Matt doesn't please us, let's pretend that Matt's colorless mole, so unremittingly central on his forehead, will sing tonight's Motown song, "Let's Get It On." Would you, viewer, get it on with Matt's colorless mole? Would anyone? Should Matt's colorless mole go bark up some other tree? It is soulful, but it is colorless. It has a vein right underneath it that pounds with Motown passion on the woo-hoos. Can a colorless mole ever truly know love?

Matt is wearing a navy blue cardigan, a button down shirt and tie, and the most gruesomely ill-fitting black jeans ever stone-washed. The boy has a big butt, and more importantly, big thighs. We need to either decrease the size of his ass or increase the size of his pants -- is there an iPhone app for that? Eh? Randy loves it. Kara congratulates him on getting up from the piano and walking around, and all of us at home recall the awkward moment last week when Paula asked Scott McIntyre to do the same thing. Paula compares his performance to wearing "a great old pair of worn-in jeans." Simon says his voice is absolutely suited to this kind of song, this is exactly what he should be doing. So, he should be doing songs that are fifty years old. Well hey, Justin Timberlake -- peel that fake colorless mole off your forehead. You have nothing to worry about!

Kris Allen: Smokey Robinson loves Kris Allen. Chris takes the stage in a military style shirt, tan and epauletted, with weird numbers across the shoulders and shirttails. Are those the numbers that will predict the end of the world? Is the secret to moving the island stamped above Kris Allen's nipple? It's like he's a prison camp guard and prisoner at the same time. It's so paradoxically stupid! He sings "How Sweet it is to be Loved By You." It's super-boring and the judges rave about it. They tell him multiple times that he did his own version of the song -- I will tell you that he did not. The arrangement was very James Taylor, very Lite FM, completely predictable. The comments had absolutely nothing to do with the performance. Nothing. They encourage him to have something called "Self Belief."

Someone, tell Scott McIntyre to keep his teeth together when he smiles. I have nothing else to say about that, but if you're reading this and you have his ear, you might mention it to him. He manages to keep his teeth together when talking, he could extend us that courtesy while smiling.

Scott McIntyre: Scott interviews that he is single, and waiting for the perfect fit, so he can relate to his song. Smokey Robinson thinks he's absolutely fantastic. I think he might do better with women if he wasn't wearing pink pants and a paisley shirt. Hey, he might! He sings "You Can't Hurry Love" in a fidgety, twitchy style -- kind of like if a wildebeest on crack sat down at the piano and started banging on it and panting. Dreadfully cheesy rendition, too fast, too jittery, too reminiscent of a bovine mammal. Paula loved it, but Simon and Randy were underwhelmed. Kara praised his tempo. Something happened I didn't quite get, and then Paula gave Simon a box of 64 crayons and a coloring book. Then this happened:

Scott: You have to vote for the pink pants!
Ryan: How do you know they're pink?
Scott: They told me. But not until ten minutes before the show.

Wow, Ryan! Way to bust this faker! Finally, the "blind" guys is exposed for the liar he is, whoring for votes with his "blindness" and his "visual impairment" and his "bad eyesight." HOW DID YOU KNOW THE PANTS WERE PINK, SCOTT? HUH? I THOUGHT YOU WERE BLIND! Then trying to blame it on his pants being secretive. The idea! Bravo, Seacrest. That's tough investigative journalism. I want to thank you from the bottom of my red American heart for this reassurance that although the newspapers are folding and the nightly news is losing a ratings battle with Judge Judy, tough questions are still being asked in this country. Way to put him on the spot! I have to go immediately and Twitter about this fraud being perpetrated on us viewers. I'm sure it will be all over the internet by morning. Talking pink pants, forsooth!

Megan Joy (CORKREY): Smokey calls Megan half-jazz, half-cabaret. Smokey loves Megan! Wait just a damn minute, Smokey loves everyone! He has not said one critical word. Megan takes the stage in a strapless blue satin dress with a poofy short skirt that has been hemmed by Scott McIntyre. She's wearing a chunky tropical necklace and, bless her warbling heart, flowers in her hair. And ballet flats. She sings "For Once in my Life" in her Megany way, with little hip twists and gutteral strangeness, marching around with shrugs and head wobbles for everyone. She looks like a middle-aged woman drunk on a Cancun vacation. Randy calls it a trainwreck. Kara tells her she could have chosen "My Guy." Paula agrees. Simon calls it horrible. Caw caw!

Anoop Desai: Smokey loves Anoop. Shock fills my soul. My teeth fall out of my head. I need a cocktail and a soft chair. Uh, oh, look out. Anoop is seated on the stage! I feel a falsetto coming on, so hold me down!Folks, they're breaking out the light effect that makes little spotlights swirl around on the stage. And purple lights, yo. The intensity is overwhelming! Fortunately, Anoop is wearing a white shirt and a black tie, then a grey henley sweater, a black jacket with completely confusing red and white striped knit cuffs and collar, and what is with these male idols wearing jackets on stage? It looks completely stupid. The mood is broken. Anoop is all over the place with this song -- never hits the right pitch on the ooo parts and just sucks utterly. He looks very very soulful and serious in the face, to the point that there is a little moisture under his beak. That is completely embarrassing. Kara says it was pretty good, and he has "a skillset." So does the guy that did my kitchen floor, Kara, but we don't want to hear him sing ballads. Paula calls him sweet. Simon calls it good. Randy requests that he "turn it up" next week.

Michael Sarver: Is this lukewarm potato still on the show? Michael reveals that he was sick last week. Michael says he is going to "church it up" which means, he interprets, he will "sing it off the cuff." Smokey actually offers a little critique, encouraging Michael to pound it, and not sweet-talk it. We'll see. I notice that Michael taps his fingers on the microphone like all those girl singers do -- remember Jasmine Trias from years ago? She used to do that, and it was such a weak little girly thing to do. It looks weird on the oil rig dude. Michael's pants have little rips under the back pocket which show faux underpants sticking out. I wonder if the pants didn't tell him about that until ten minutes before the show. Paula says it was too lounge, too Las Vegas. Simon couldn't wait for it to end. Me either.

Lil Rounds: Lil got emotional at the Motown museum. She wants to do this for Martha and Diana and everyone who paved the way. Okay, bring it. She sings "Heat Wave" and has Paula up and dancing in her tutu! Lil looks pretty cool in a flapper dress with really long fringe, a chin-length wig, and sparkling heels and earrings. She seems very extremely comfortable on stage, and while there's nothing really surprising or devastating about the way she sings the song, she has a certain authenticity and charm -- it's winning. Randy was disappointed. Kara says that Lil was the diva that everyone was waiting for, because this was her week. What, because she's black? Really? Paula disagrees, she thinks Lil owned that song. Simon was looking for a moment, and doesn't think she had one. Simon is always talking about "the moment" -- remember with Katherine McPhee and her "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" moment? Fantasia with her "Summertime" moment? He has a point. Lil replies very glibly and diplomatically to mixed criticism until Paula suggests she run for President, and Lil responds, "Obama!" Yeah, Obama. What?

Adam Lambert: Adam sings "Tracks of my Tears" for Smokey with a really red, flushed neck. He says he's nervous and his neck agrees. He's planning to keep it low and sweet through the whole song and Smokey approves. Adam sings his song on the stool, dressed in a silver suit, with slick Elvis hair, accompanied by an acoustic guitar, a string bass, and one of those box drums you sit on. He sounded great, lots of falsetto and interesting melodic interpretation. This kid cannot trip, it seems to me. I think he's made some really aware, really smart decisions. The audience goes crazy. Kara stands in her seat in awe, gasps, claps, and says, "I have six words for you: One of the best performances of the night." Gee, you had to stand up to deliver such faint praise? And also, that was eight words. God, I hate Kara. Paula loves his cleaned-up look. Simon calls it the best performance of the night and calls him an emerging star. Randy calls it "unbelievably hot." I agree. Sorry, but the guy is a solid performer. He is a professional. He's playing chess and the rest of them are playing tiddly-winks. Sorry!

Danny Gokey: Danny has the pimp spot and new glasses! He's going to sing "It's All Right" or "Get Ready" or "Here I Come" or whatever it's called. Smokey helpfully reminds him to sing all the words, and Danny humbly agrees on tape that Smokey is right, and he should sing all the words, but on stage Danny decides to let the background singers sing the "it's all right" and "you're outta sight" parts. Controversy! Betrayal! Defiance! Oh, no one notices. This performance reminds me of his performance of PYT and also whatever he sang last week -- he likes to sing at the top of his lungs and jump around. Whatever, Danny is a poser. Paula says he's undeniable, identifiable, and reliable. Simon calls it clumsy and amateurish.

Oh wait, that wasn't the pimp spot. This show is lasting half my life tonight. Please, let it end.

Allison Iraheta: Allison will sing "Papa was a Rolling Stone" because it will allow her to show her funk side. Smokey predictably approves. Allison funks it up big time! I enjoy her, black lace tights and denim dress notwithstanding! Kara and Paula are out of their seats clapping and pointing. Smokey and Barry are standing too. Randy says it was hot. Kara raves, "You sing like you've been singing for 400 years! That is from God! You can't teach that!" Simon calls it one of her best performances. I agree.

Best performance: Adam and Allison
Worst performance: Anoop and Michael

Going home: Megan. Don't get me wrong -- I love Megan. Anyone who sings like Katherine Hepburn while wearing miniskirt and fruit around her neck is alright in my book. But I think this is the end for her. We can only hope she will pull it out again and send home Anoop or Michael or one of those other boring turds.

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Surviving The Quincunx by Charles Palliser

2009-03-21T15:15:00.005-04:00

Yesterday, watching CNN, I saw a feature piece about a man who has been feeding the homeless daily out of the back of his truck in a Queens neighborhood for ten years. I found myself astonished that such a man could exist, that such selfless charity could be going on. Surely he must have some hidden motive, some personal failing out of which this commitment has arisen. He can't be just a NICE GUY doing a NICE THING for people in NEED. Of course, he can. He does. Nice people do nice things all the time with no hope of personal gain, no secret, devious agenda. I just had a hard time believing it.

I blame Charles Palliser, and his novel, The Quincunx, which I have been reading for about a month. This 800 page behemoth of a Victorian novel (neo-Victorian? 1989) drags its readers and main character through every milieu of horror, every site of human want and degradation, through the most wretched poverty, the most abject misery the 19th century had to offer. And of course, the 19th century offers plenty. Feel like you've been there, done that? After all, you've read Dickens, right? Seriously, this is Dickens on crystal meth. Imagine the nightmares of Dickens, but without the comfortable distance of Dickens' hyperformal language. And imagine that everyone, everywhere, is purely selfish, purely wicked, and does nothing for any reason but blunt personal gain. The protagonist of this novel, who starts out a boy and ends up a much thinner, much more suspicious boy, lives through every possible awfulness of the time, from agricultural slavery to being a knife-and-boot boy, to various murder attempts, and many, many, many betrayals. Everyone who appears to be trustworthy is false. Everyone who offers love is immediately killed or destroyed.

It is BAD. It is bad in early 19th century England. Very very bad.

However, I am glad I read it for two reasons.

First, if I'm ever tempted to be one of these people who says, "How dare the government take my money to give it to poor people? Leave that to the churches and to my personal charity!" I have only to recall what the churches and individuals of the time were able to do for the working class when the industrial revolution was just beginning, when common lands were being fenced and sold, when there were no legal protections for children, no laws governing labor, no laws governing housing standards, etc. Individuals and churches I'm sure did a lot for a lot of people, but it wasn't enough, given the grinding, irresistable motivation of people to get more money, more power, more property. You could read this book and come away saying, "Wow, the poor in this country really have it made." And I say that's a good thing. I don't want to have to step over dying people and starving orphans. Paying taxes will be just fine, thanks. The thing is, and this is what became clearer to me while reading this book, that without public education, school lunch programs, health care, and other entitlements, there truly is a caste system from which there is no escape. Without money, you can't get money, and you are just trapped. Palliser is a scholar, and he researched the book for 14 years. He's truly captured the period, and seeing it played out before you in such lurid and exacting detail is so much more compelling than reading about it in facts and figures.

The other reason I'm glad I read it is that it was a great read! I was completely fascinated by the time I was ten pages in, and the story just grabbed me by the collar and railroaded me right through to the end. It was almost un-put-downable and I spent many sleepy mornings having stayed up way too late the night before. It is *not* a morality book, although I've spent time talking about that aspect of it. I haven't talked about the plot at all, but much has been made of the mystery in the extremely elaborate, very intelligently wrought story that drives the book. Go here if you've read it and want to ponder all its intricacies. It involves an inheritance, a murder, and a whole lot of family tree.

If you do decide to read The Quincunx, make sure you have some time set aside to cope with obsessive reading. And it might be good to take this one on in the summer months, when you can go outside periodically and remember that life is good, that people can love, and that redemption is possible.

Jack Pendarvis is One of Those Guys

2009-03-21T12:33:00.004-04:00

I just can't hang. I don't know what happened to me. I want to say that when I was 23 I could tolerate or even enjoy these books organized on the principle of "what the hell." These novels that challenge what it means to be a novel, characters who defy the idea of a character, whose authors seem to make decisions because they're the ones holding the pen, and tee-hee who's going to stop them?

I know I dated guys who wrote books like this when I was in my 20s. But I also remember putting down The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy as a child, and only part of the reason was because I thought the sacrilege would send me to hell. I have a feeling that if the narrative truly compelled me, I would have dared to face the consequences.

The first book I read by Jack Pendarvis was Your Body is Changing, a collection of short stories. At first, I was really digging it. Yes, it tended a little toward the type of story collection that holds up one character after another saying, "Look at this idiot! Okay, now look at this idiot! Isn't he a tool? Now check out this guy -- what a tool!" But it was really imaginative and interesting. I particularly liked the story "Outsiders" about a woman who announces constantly that she's really someone who will "call you on your shit." Then I got to the title story, about an adolescent zealot who comes into age and cynicism in various har-har ways. And I started to wonder, is Jack Pendarvis one of those guys? One of those guys who produces desultory idylls revolving around randomness, irony, and a wry, intellectual detachment? One of those McSweeney's type guys? When the main character set off on a cross country journey in a goat cart, I had to face the truth: Jack Pendarvis is one of those guys.

Then I read his novel, Awesome, which is about a giant and his robot friend. Pendarvis' giant (named "Awesome") is as inaccessible as the prose itself, and unfortunately he tells his own story mixing low and high discourse like it's 1999. I couldn't finish Your Body is Changing, but I will admit I read to the end of Awesome, to see if penises are really like guns. You know the old plotting rule: If you show a gun in Act I, it has to go off in Act III, right? So, if you cut off your penis on a whim in Act I, does it have to return to you when you least expect it, in Act III? Answer: yes. Penises are just like guns in this respect.

Right after I had finished reading Awesome, a friend loaned me The Thirteen and a Half Lives of Captain Bluebear. It was through realizing the proximity of the latter to The Hitchhiker's Guide that I realized the proximity of Awesome to this iconic work, and so I have to admit: There may be people out there who will find this book to be gorgeous, revelatory, and profound. I am not one of them. However, I salute MacAdam Cage for publishing it, I salute Pendarvis for writing it, and I'm glad it's out there on the bookshelves, in all its weirdness, in all its belligerent quirkiness, because the world doesn't need another mild romance, and Jack Pendarvis ain't no Nicholas Sparks.

American Idol Top 11: Randy Travis is Temporarily Concerned

2009-03-17T21:44:00.003-04:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day. To everyone except Judge Kara, who is wearing silver lame. And when I do not go through the extra keystrokes to give you the accent on the e in lame, to clarify that lame has two syllables and refers to a fabric, rather than one syllable referring to Kara, it is because I don't really feel like it.

Bring out the top 11! Our girl Megan takes the stage rolling her eyes and mouthing a bad word that rhymes with "duck." Seriously, I'm not kidding. It's country week, and that means Grand Ole Opry, Randy Travis, money, Carrie Underwood, and Michael Sarver looking like a boiled sausage. Randy Travis mentors our kids this week, and says spectacularly that this group is "among" the best groups of idols he's seen "during the years he's been watching." Wow. Step back. He predicts it will be an "enjoyable" show. Randy, you're killing me.

MICHAEL SARVER: Michael placidly worries about the many words he has to memorize, but Randy Travis bravely predicts he will do "a good job." Good grief, somebody put a hat on this Randy Travis character! He's letting loose with "good" and "well" and nice" and god help us if he isn't gearing up -- he might go all the way to "pleasant" and "admirable." Michael sings "Ain't Goin' Down 'Til the Sun Comes Up" by Garth Brooks. It's phlegmatic, embarrassing, nose-wrinkly, and the crowd says, "Woo!" Dan says "Did they turn his mike off?" Kara foams at the mouth about his great memorizing ability. She says, "Wow, so many words! How could you do that!!?!?" Yeah, well, you know, the Greeks used to do much more. So. Michael returns that while singing and words and notes are important, country music is about having some fun. Paula: "I thought that your artistic ability to take a harmonica player, it added charm, it boosted your confidence and fun." It takes a lot of artistic ability to take a harmonica player, especially one that's sitting on the edge of the stage and not paying attention. Simon calls it clumsy. Michael returns, "If we were all perfect, we wouldn't need this show." Holy crap.

OH MY GOSH -- ALL THESE SONGS ARE AVAILABLE ON I-TUNES!

ALLISON IRAHETA: Allison sings "Blame it on Your Lying, Cheating, Booger-eating, Mainlining, Yard-gnome-stealing, Dog-inflating, Loving Heart." I have a soft spot for this song because it is featured in "The Thing Called Love" which is one awesome movie. Allison sings it alright, maybe a little shouty, but hey. She looks younger, thinner, like less of a smoker, and in general just perkier than she has looked so far. The judges like it.

KRIS ALLEN: I just realized that this rubbery little kittenhead is trying to pull an Archuleta on us. He doesn't have the skin humidity that Archuleta had, and he doesn't lick his lips with the same reptilian relentlessness, but this is definitely a familiar silhouette. He sings "To Make You Feel My Love" or something by Garth Brooks, sitting on a stool, and making "Buckle your shoes, baby, I'm having a feeling" eyebrows. Gross. Totally like a wedding singer. Paula calls it honest, pure and vulnerable. Simon thought it was "terrific." Randy identified "tender moments." Kris responds, "Good comments are always good." *vomit*

LIL ROUNDS: Lil looks fantastic. It's the jewelry, totally! A really glorious, excellent necklace, love the bracelet, and I can even manage the fuschia cocktail dress with these fantastic accessories. Randy Travis announces, "She's got big pipes on the top end." Lil sings "Independence Day" by Martina McBride. I hate this song; it's the Sean Hannity anthem. It was also one of Carrie Underwood's big moments on Idol. Lil sings it adequately, explaining she wants to stay true to the country genre and not R&B it up too much. It wasn't the greatest performance of her life, but she's not in trouble this week, I don't think. Paula says, "When your voice pierces through, that's why you're one of the obvious favorites." Simon says it looked uncomfortable and persists in calling her "Little." I really love her necklace.

ADAM LAMBERT: Ryan uses the word "antithetical" to describe Adam Lambert and Randy Travis. Yeah. Adam has found a version of "Ring of Fire" that sounds kind of like background music in one of those ancient Sumerian movies, like 300 or Troy or something. The harem scene maybe. He sings the living hell out of it though, including belting out some really high, really crazy notes. Major camera-eye-molesting, though -- remember Constantine and the way he used to make you feel covered in slime just the way he would track the camera around with his one pulsating eye? Yeah. I think he will have safely survived country week without suffering any proximity to a banjo. Kara calls it a little strange. Paula seems to be wearing a wig, and she loved it. Simon thought it was indulgent rubbish. I actually really liked it the more I think about it.

SCOTT MCINTYRE: He sings "Wild Angels" by Martina McBride. The song is too big, he's playing the bare minimum on the piano, and looks terrified. I'm sure he's not, but... he looks like he is. How long are the voters going to keep this guy around? Paula says the piano is a crutch. Simon says, "What do you expect him to do?" Simon says it's a bad song, and Scott says, cryptically, "I lost a lot of hat picks this week." Then he waves his arms around in a confusing way. Scott says he won't be dropping the piano any time soon.

ALEXIS GRACE: Alexis has a beautiful dress on -- I really love this dress. She's singing "Jolene" just like Brooke White did last year. Randy Travis approves, and gives her the "I'd like to frost your cupcake, cupcake" look. She sings a little behind the beat the whole time -- I think Brooke did a way better job with this song last year. The judges don't much like it, except Paula. Alexis, chastened for losing her edge, promises to "dirty it up" next week. Alexis is getting boring.

DANNY GOKEY: Come on now. You can predict this, can't you? Can you guess what song Danny is going to sing? I'll give you a minute to think about what song would really showcase his appeal to small town America. If you guessed, "Jesus Take the Wheel" you are right. He sings this Carrie Underwood hymn in a white parka and clear frames on his glasses, baby. It is impossible to forget, as he stands there in all his earnest piety and friendliness, that we saw "worship music director" under his name during the auditions. The judges have differing opinions on whether he sucks on the verses or not. Everyone agrees that on the chorus he is just all kinds of marvelous.

Are you wondering if Danny Gokey is a tool? Check out this video. Do not miss Michael Carver standing in the background, hoping someone will call *him* on the phone and want to meet up with *him* at the Cheesecake Factory:

ANOOP DESAI: Anoop is worrying Randy Travis with his song choice: "You Were Always On My Mind" by Willie Nelson. I actually love this song, but it reminds me of that movie "Practical Magic" with Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock. Hey, nothing wrong with that. If I'm listening to Anoop with my eyes closed, nothing offends me. However, when I open my eyes and look at his facial expressions, his styling, his eyebrows oozing sincerity, and his nervous lips, all the hate comes rushing back. The judges love it.

MEGAN JOY CORKREY: Megan is going to sing "I Go Out Walking After Midnight" and that bothers Randy Travis, who nevertheless finds it totally unique and unexpected. Megan is using some kind of weird voodoo priestess accent -- like, are we getting our fortunes read in New Orleans? Or are we like, straight outta Haiti? Dan says it's a Minnesota convenience store clerk. We speculate if she has a hearing problem. Maybe she's sick? Certainly her boobs are not sick. They woke up this morning and decided to put in a full day's work today. Ok, after scooting her booty and finishing the song, she reveals that she is sick, and she's been to the hospital. Influenza B, people. B. She coughs through her critique. The judges love her, sick or well.

MATT GIRAUD: Okay, I've had it. Matt Giraud is WET, he is moist and his edges are ill-defined. He is pale and possibly MADE OF SPONGE. Randy Travis *again* feels misgivings, and then *again* professes to have those misgivings melt away. Randy Travis' critique of every idol: "Well, I must admit, I was unsure of his song choice, but then when he/she sang it, it was really great. If he/she sings exactly like that, it's really going to be neato." Way to mentor, Randy Travis. I have to say, strange colorless mole and all, Matt outsings and outplays Scott McIntyre eight kinda ways. I do not like to look at Matt Giraud, but he can sing. He's just so DOUGHY. Doughy and moist at the same time: UNPLEASANT. And why do we have to see so many pink, moist, toothy gums all the time?

Kara has praised every single one of them, tonight, in the highest terms possible.
Paula can't pronounce authenticity. She also seems to privilege "piercing."
Simon liked Anoop and Matt Giraud.
Randy expressed no memorable opinion.

When they do the summaries of the performances at the end, it's like "Which one of these things is not like the other?" with Megan Joy Corkrey and Adam Lambert sticking out like brave and crazy thumbs.

Best performances: Adam Lambert
Worst performance: Michael Sarver
Going home: Sorry, but maybe Megan. I hope Michael though.

Twitter, Tumblr, Tags: You Are Still All Alone

2009-03-12T00:58:00.006-04:00

In spite of the flurry of social media that surrounds me, I am still all alone in the space between my ears. In the moment of any creative act, there is nothing outside my own brain that can help me, no synergy, no immediacy of connection can save me. All the networking in the world is a noise and a dissipation when it comes to my book and the words that I have to put together, to get the book done.

I was standing in my kitchen when it hit me. It was one o'clock in the morning, and I had been writing my novel. Frustration drove me away from the keyboard and into the other room. I stood there with one hand on the phone, but at 1am, I couldn't call anyone here in Virginia. My family was asleep. Even west coast friends would need a reason to pick up the phone this late. There was no noise in the house. I was truly completely alone with my book and a couple of really tough scenes. If I were going to phrase the problem as a Tweet... if I were going to tell my writing group about it... if I were telling someone in an email... but it didn't matter how I could phrase it or present it or package the problem. I was only having it, not reporting it at all.

Of course, there were lots of people I could have "called" online. With a Twitter search, I could find people writing novels just like me and talking about it at that very moment. I could find blogs, message boards, email lists. I could shoot out a Facebook status update and within minutes have people tell me how it would get better, how they had been there, how I could fix it. But I realized, standing there in my physical form in the middle of the night -- tired, cold, close to a breakthrough -- that it wouldn't help.

I couldn't get what I needed from the vast amorphous "them" out there, the support, the network, the like minds. I stood there gripping the counter, facing the idea that I might just have to give up on writing this difficult book, doing this difficult thing. And I realized, it's not that I don't have the right support, the right help and connections. It's that support cannot help. Connections cannot write this miserable book. I have to write it. Word by word, wrenched straight out of my own brain, going straight down into my book -- not offered for critique on a message board, or discussed in Twitter, or announced in a blog.

This is me. Just this physical form and the electricity in my head, all online appendages amputated, all connections severed. This is you, alone, thinking. Making something up in your brain. Directing it onto the page. This is the only thing that ultimately matters.

Connections are addictive. I live online. My Twitter feeds my Facebook. My YouTube feeds my Tumblr. There's a camera in my laptop lid, a camera in my phone, and then there's my actual camera and my Flickr. On web sites and blogs, with hashtags and Digg, I find people who are watching the same show I'm watching, eating the same food I'm eating, shopping for the same kitchen appliance, etc. etc. In the interest of full disclosure, I am linking out to all my social media, but this isn't all. There are forums, games, elists, and more. If I have a question, or need to say something, I can push it out to hundreds of people who are the same as I am in some way: writers, readers, homeschoolers, people from the neighborhood here, people from my hometown. I can find people who think the same, look the same, live the same, and I can access them immediately. I have their ears.

Maybe you can push your message out to thousands who are just like you in some way. But are they just like you in that one crucial way? I cannot find anyone who is writing the same book. No one can talk to me about that. And if they did? Sound and dissipation.

It's me. It's 1 AM. There's a book not getting written. For this I have to be all alone. And when it comes down to getting alone, I can see that in this way, for this purpose, I have been alone all the while, with bees buzzing around my head, and a radio playing in the background, and a train passing by outside, and a fan blowing, rasping away. And yes, I get the irony: I am telling you this in a blog. I have found the way in which we are exactly alike. But for this purpose, in this one instance, let's not talk about it at all.

American Idol: Top 13: Michael Jackson, Are You Watching?

2009-03-10T22:01:00.004-04:00

The top thirteen, baby! Ow Mah Gutness! The stage opens and reveals the judges indulging in a new big onstage entrance, and Kara is mouthing, "Oh my god! Oh my god!" as if it's a stadium full of screaming fans! Holy crap, the flashing lights! The blue floor! The throngs of excited audience members! It almost sounds like that might be true, but then we get a shot from Ryan's POV up in the lights, and we see that it's just the regular old audience, like 20 rows. Whatever!

We have three months until we get to crown Lil Rounds?

Here's a shock: Two of the contestants will go home tomorrow. Here's another shock: It's Michael Jackson night. But wait, when Idol takes on an artist, don't they usually come to the Idols and do mentoring sessions? Will that be, um, possible? Maybe he will appear as a hologram! Maybe he will give each Idol a cryptic three-word advice session. What will he wear? What will he do? Oh, nothing. It's regular interview tapes. Profound disappointment.

LIL ROUNDS: In her tape, Lil's husband reminds us that their house was destroyed by a tornado and they live in a hotel. Lil adds, "The day you give up on your dream is the day you give up on your life," inadvertently alienating herself from everyone who has given up on their dream, which is like 110% of the voting public. Lil takes the stage in a pink prom dress tucked into white pleated pants. She delivers "The Way You Make Me Feel" adequately. Randy says she made the song new again! Kara speculates that the rest of the contestants are now afraid! Paula compliments her outfit and compares her to angels singing. Vote for Lil! She's like Fantasia but married and friendly!

Cut to Scott backstage singing mutely and pointing his face slightly to the right of the camera. Oh, HELP, I feel myself about to make FUN OF A BLIND GUY. The thing about Scott is that he always seems like he's kind of lightly panting or kind of like, gobsmacked. During the commercial break, Fox pitches us a show where Ozzy and Sharon blindfold people and make them kiss senior citizens. Wow. Blindfolded. Coincidence? I think not.

SCOTT MCINTYRE: Scott's tape reveals that his mother started him on piano as soon as she found out he was blind, and also that his sister is blind. He sings an awkward and super-predictable version of "Keep the Faith," a song which boldly recommends having self esteem and promises that you can be a winner if you keep the faith. I find myself respecting the fact that Scott doesn't close his eyes and doesn't wear sunglasses. He has creepy, weird, wandering eyes and he isn't hiding them. The arrangement is really lite-FM sounding. Simon and Randy don't really like it. Dan points out every time any judge uses the word "see" to refer to Scott's performance in any way. Dan is so insensitive to blind people.

Nicholas Cage is doing a movie. Prego is doing a sauce.

DANNY GOKEY: Danny has a big musical family in Milwaukee. His dad used to make up songs for them, and made them sing their homework. Wow, they were encouraged to do music, and none of them were even blind! Danny is going to sing... no... please... MERCY... kill me now -- PYT. During the performance, I was unable to move or speak. It was spastic, horrific, and disastrous. A lot of shoulder-shaking, stomping around, a lot of holding the microphone out to the crowd for call-and-response type action. The crowd must understand that they are in charge of saying PYT. Danny is in charge of making his legs go back and forth rapidly. He looks like he's trying to get bugs out of his underwear. Paula predicts he will be in the finals. Kara rhapsodizes.

Dan: He's pretty good except for that back sweat thing he's got going on.
Me: That's a design printed on his jacket.
Dan: No. It's not.

I kind of like his glasses though -- purple plastic to match his shirt.

MICHAEL SARVER: Michael interviews that he enjoyed going home to sit on his porch. He's going to really love LA, this one. He sings "You Are Not Alone" sitting on the steps at the front of the stage like it's just one big porch. He's one of those singers who makes every long I sound into a big disingenuous smile, even if it doesn't make any sense with the words he's singing.

Me: He's got something printed on the back of his jacket too. Look.
Dan: Is it the assclown posse logo?

Well, Michael has finished singing. Simon says he has passion, heart, and has given it 110%. Randy says he is one of the best so far. So, great -- out of four, he is one of the best. What does that even mean? Kara likes that he's serious and brings his game every time he steps out on the stage.

Pampers has made a diaper. Jasmine is the baby of her family.

JASMINE MURRAY: Jasmine sings "I'll Be There." Her dress looks like a muumuu that's been hacked off at the hips. She sings it fine. Kinda boring, kinda flat. Randy calls it pretty good. Kara says she was like "whoa," and compliments her stage presence. Simon calls it a little robotic, recommends that she lighten up. I agree, she sounded really old-fashioned and dull.

I'll tell you what. Last season was won by David Cook, whose big excitement was doing his own unusual version of songs. I thought this season would be full of people putting their own twist on songs -- changing the tempo, changing the genre, etc. I thought they would all be doing that from week 1, after DC got such a lot of mileage from it. None of that, so far. All the arrangements have been really predictable, mainstream, standard cover versions of these songs. Even after David Cook's big breakthrough moment was doing Chris Carter's version of Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean." I'll tell you something else: There would be nothing better on this earth, no better entertainment available under the sun, than if Michael Jackson had been on hand to do mentoring sessions with these jackasses. Oh well!

TV: What makes Honey Bunches of Oats so special?
Dan: Opium.

KRIS ALLEN: In a bizarre scene on Kris' interview tape, Kris' Dad plays the guitar in an empty room while several people sit on an oatmeal-carpeted floor to listen. Does Kris' hometown not include any furniture? Kris sings "Do You Remember the Time We Fell in Love" and I actually think he put on a really good show. He has kind of a goofy, liberated joy in his performance -- a kind of chimp-like disregard for dignity. Simon says, hilariously, "I'm not sure I would have brought the wife out so early." Randy says, and I am quoting, "Very well job done."

ALLISON IRAHETA: Allison demonstrates on her tape how she habitually sings on a stage at a big furniture store. In the segment, there are about 15 people standing there clapping. Isn't she famous yet? She sings something, and... who was that rocker chick from last season who always looked so bored and irritated and wore those stripey pants? I can't remember her name but I think *this* was what they were going for when they cast her, because Allison is a girl rocker with a charming grin and an earnest desire to please. Simon tells her to lighten up. Allison goofs by saying, "I'm not like cutting myself or anything" and we see Paula miming zipping the lips, as in "Ixnay on the uttingcay uffstay!!!" I'm afraid (and delighted) that Allison's not done saying things she shouldn't. We'll see. Tonight cutting, tomorrow maybe "fuck" on live TV. OH, it was Amanda Overmeyer. That was her name. Allison is Amanda Overmeyer writ young.

ANOOP DESAI: It's lucky #13! Anoop's parents show some pictures that would get him in trouble if this were a democratic primary. I think it's possible that Anoop's parents do not love and serve the Lord in the way that other people, those who work on oil rigs for example, might. How that's going to play in Peoria remains to be seen, Bollywood notwithstanding. Anoop sings "Beat it." It's as awful as it can possibly be, including Anoop looking saucily into the camera at the end and saying "Beat it" with echoes. Paula says it sounded karaoke, that this song is untouchable. Simon calls it horrible, a bad impersonation. Behind Randy, Scott McIntyre's blind sister is inscrutable.

JORGE NUNEZ: Jorge tells us that his family is big and loud. They demonstrate. He sings "Never Can Say Goodbye" with the sleeves of his sport coat shoved up over his elbows. I've never heard this song before, and I do not like it. Jorge's moves and facials are super-smarmy, and he needs his eyebrows mowed. Jorge has proved himself insufficient unto the big stage. He looks little, scared, and unprepared. Paula asks why he picked this song.

Jorge: I was not going to sing "Bad" by Michael Jackson.
Simon: Well, you kind of did.

Who's going to get the pimp spot? Alexis or Matt? We first have to get through Megan and Adam. I can't even remember who half these people are. There seem to be about forty of them -- did we even have a semi-final round?

Apparently, on the new Osborne show, there will be whipped cream. Whipped cream and kissing grannies! It's a laugh riot!

MEGAN CORKREY: Megan's mom interviews about Megan and her awesome opportunity, with a neck the color of a sugar beet. The neck gets increasingly beetier as the interview progresses. Megan sings "Rockin' Robin" and you know what? If the arrangement hadn't been so completely rockabilly and cheesy, complete with a... PICCOLO providing the tweeting? I think that Megan could have pulled this off. However, she cannot save the song when they're putting bird sounds in it. The girl judges like the quirkiness. Simon calls the song choice stupid and the dancing ridiculous. It was kind of bizarre.

ADAM LAMBERT: Adam talks about his struggle to succeed in the music business, wearing a western shirt in the sarcastic way, not the earnest way like Kris Allen. He sings "Black or White" with his typical confidence and control. Okay, okay, I KNOW he is phony and the haircut is exactly what Flight of the Conchords is mocking, but he is a professional, he is not embarrassing, he does not get up and swing his hips to "Rockin' Robin" seriously. Paula says he is the most seasoned, comfortable contestant ever on Idol. The judges all froth and foam with love and praise.

Paula has now predicted that the final will be between Adam and Danny. Ryan sends us to the break with a "Hey, Michael, you watchin'?" This is it!

MATT GIRAUD: I don't like Matt. His parents are adoring and nervous, but the guy is a tool and I can't take his sneery, pouty, puffy nonsense. Matt sings "Human Nature" with a piano but we can't hear the piano at all, unless the piano sounds like a string section. At the end he does a big puffy, pouty, scruffy falsetto thing that has the judges shouting and clapping. During Matt's send-off, Ryan advises us to go get a pencil and paper to jot down... Alexis' number. Seriously, as Matt stands there ready to wetly pimp his puffy numbers, Ryan is already pimping Alexis.

Get ready, Alexis. They've done all they can do, and now it's up to you, girl.

I really like V8 soups. I wish the grocery store down the street would carry them.

ALEXIS GRACE: Another musical dad! This show is all about the Dads elbowing in for some camera time! Alexis sings "Dirty Diana" in a black minishorts jumpsuit and black tights. Super trampy, grindy, rockstar. As she listens to her critiques, she's absently making sexyface at the camera and the judges and everyone else who will look. It's kind of tired, ultimately.

Best performance: Adam Lambert
Worst performance: Jasmine Murray
Going home: Jasmine and Jorge, or maybe Allison if that cutting remark gets any play.

American Idol: Top 36: Wild Card Show: Tatiana Del Toro Sings for America

2009-03-05T23:18:00.002-05:00

I couldn't recap the third group, for two reasons. First, I was busy on Tuesday night. Second, and this is totally serious, I think I am going to have a very hard time making fun of the blind guy. Even when I was watching the DVRed show, I had this awful, cold, falling-down-a-well feeling when contemplating ridiculing this blind dude. I think that with this contestant American Idol has won. I am defeated. But tonight, no blind guy. So life can continue in sweet denial of his staggering, high-fiving existence.

Tonight, the eight wild cards sing, and then at the end of the show, the judges will decide whether or not to kill Tatiana's dream which she has worked so hard for, which she wants more than anyone has ever wanted anything in the whole world, and she loves you, she sings for America.

Jesse Langseth: I don't like this blabbermouth, but she looks really good tonight. Black snakeskin minidress and a gold shrug and gold boots, it works. She sings, "Tell Me Something Good" and delivers the silhouette of a sexy, rocky performance. The song didn't give her a chance to shout out a glory note, and Randy noticed some pitch problems. When Jesse is grinning for the camera, I notice her teeth are widely various in shape and size. Okay.

Matt Giraud: Matt responds to the critique that he isn't bluesy enough by putting on a slouch hat and one of those Afghanistanish neck scarves, and swaying like Stevie. He sings a Jackson Five song. Apparently that's just what the judges were looking for. Paula says, "There's no doubt America is loving you right now." Actually, America is not loving him, or we would have voted him in the first time. We think he's pasty, fungusy, lumpy-butted, and crotch-smacky. Okay? Simon accuses him of being a little bit Taylor Hicks. Well-spotted, Simon! Imagine Taylor Hicks had been stuffed into a pipe and buried in the back yard for a couple of seasons, then dug up and halfheartedly rinsed off with goat snot. That's Matt Giraud.

Megan Corkrey: Megan is channeling Duffy. The judges love it.

Von Smith: Von talks on his tape like he's wearing a retainer. Is he? His hair, please, preach it, looks like he had regular hair hanging down on his forehead, and then a helpful wildebeest in a black apron came along and licked him right up his face and right onto the top of his head, leaving a giant tidal wave of hair sticking up. He sings something. Simon says he's being serious and ordinary. Von's chances don't look good.

Jasmine: Jasmine interviews that she hopes everyone will be able to see that she is really commercial and want to keep her in the competition because of her commercialness. She sings "Reflection" from Mulan, by Christina Aguilera. She throws her voice around like a dead chicken on a tetherball stake. I mean, truly, it is belabored and ridiculous. The judges applaud and salivate. Kara says, wow, Jasmine has a really big voice. I didn't know that. Did you know that?

Ricky Braddy: The wildebeest has licked Ricky's head on both sides. He sings "Superstitious" and is completely overpowered by the synthesizer -- a terrible mix. Maybe it played better in the room, but in the mid range, the instruments just dominated him and left him apologizing and gasping on the stage. And, excuse me, but, does his white button-down shirt have elastic across the hem in the back? He's wearing tight black jeans, a banker vest, a black tie, a white shirt with an elastic hem. The judges rant and rave and froth and foam with adoration.

It's clear that they have already picked their finalists going in, and they are matching their comments to their choices, not to the performances in front of them. I'm so disillusioned. I'm spending the commercial break speculating if the tooth fairy is not real either.

Tatiana del Toro: Tatiana has a minor mental breakdown on tape, declaring that she has found love, and she loves singing so much, and that she's ready to sing for America. Then she sings "Saving All My Love For You," the only song she knows. Paula points out that she has a new accent -- Tatiana garbles that she's like Jorge, she thinks in Spanish when she's emotional. Like Jorge, you know, Jorge that got voted into the top 12! Exactly like Jorge! Kara calls this "The Adventures of Tatiana" and wonders which Tatiana we're seeing today. Then we get this glorious dialogue:

Kara: At least she's not crying and holding her heart.
Simon: She will be.

So true. Tatiana goes down on her knees beside Ryan, then Ryan goes down on his knees when Tatiana gets up, then Tatiana goes back down on her knees beside Ryan, and someone says the inevitable, "This is a family show!" and WOW, awkward.

Anoop Dawg: Anoop sings a kind of gruesome karaoke version of "My Prerogative" which is a stupid song, and he does it nervously and with great arm gesturing and stomping around. Simon calls him an enthusiastic dog. Kara says she wanted to DANCE! Dance even! Anoop made Kara want to dance! Paula told him he was relevant, yes, in his bright blue polo shirt and his physicist's haircut, he is relevant. Let's just take a broad guess that they have decided to put Anoop into the finals.

Jasmine is through to the top 12. Ricky is not. He didn't show "enough personality."

Megan and Tatiana come out together. Tatiana's eyebrows are making out with each other. When she hears the news that Megan is going through and she isn't, her nose falls off. She grabs it and reattaches it, making sure it's solidly on there, not going anywhere again. Paula calls her over to the judges dais, where Tatiana stands before her with head bowed and receives the news that she is loved, she is going places, she is going to be an actor. Then she is allowed to kiss Paula's ring.

So, we have Jasmine and Megan, and then my DVR cuts out. I see from my helpful friend the internet that Anoop and Matt Giraud also both made it through. What a fraud, what a messy simulation, what a grinding, thumping, broke-leg charade. All four of the people they chose had been pimped heavily on earlier shows, clearly the judges really wanted those four in the finals and they were going to muscle them on whether we like it or not. Whatever.

The Bachelor is a Reprehensible Weenie

2009-03-03T07:45:00.003-05:00

I dare you to come up with a more feckless boob than the Bachelor. Seriously. He is the epitome of feckless boobery.

Here's your line, idiot: "Baby, you were right. I made a mistake. The reason I couldn't give you a good reason for ditching you is because there was *no good reason.* It was a stupid, assheaded thing to do. I got confused because of the show and I picked the wrong girl. That was dumb, and now I know it. I should have listened to you! You are it for me, all the way to the ground, and I want to spend the rest of my life making up to you for that stupid, awful thing that I did on television. Let's get married."

Instead it was this repeated ad nauseum: "I felt a connection with you. I was falling for you from the beginning. I am falling in love with you. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. She is a great girl."

Are you KIDDING me? Do people really talk like this? I wanted to reach through the television and smack him in the head with a pile of bricks. I truly hope that Molly pulls out his eyebrows one by one, runs him over with a Jeep, and then leaves him for dead in a garbage can behind an Outback Steakhouse.

Hamlet 2: Sometimes Even Catherine Keener Cannot Save You

2009-03-01T08:07:00.005-05:00

Okay, I didn't like "Dogma" either. It's not that I'm prudish or can't appreciate a good satire, but "Hamlet 2" bored me, literally to sleep. That's the same way I felt about "Dogma," I realize. Bored. Steve Coogan (he was the little tiny Roman guy in "Night at the Museum") plays a failed actor who is now a drama teacher. But, OH NO! The drama program is in trouble. It's going to be eliminated from the school! Just when a bunch more kids have signed up for drama class, as shop and computer classes have also been eliminated!

So what do we do in a movie, if the drama program is in trouble? That's right. We put on a show to save it! Do we all have to pull together, and overcome our differences, and in the process do we all learn a little bit about ourselves?

I don't know, because right at that point I turned to Dan and said, "I didn't know this was going to be a movie about saving the community center." And then I fell asleep. I also didn't know the movie was going to be about children, or rather 26-year-olds pretending to be children. I also didn't know that Catherine Keener was going to be given such slim material to work on, not that she can't work with less, but still. A little brutal.

Good points in the movie: Elizabeth Shue plays herself, having given up Hollywood to become a nurse. Catherine Keener counts as a good point. She is always hilarious and perfect. Steve Coogan manages to be likeable in spite of the overwrought situation.

To me, it played like a Monty Python skit writ American and writ about a hundred times too long. Coogan definitely seemed to be channeling Terry Gilliam at times, but the character couldn't bear the weight of the entire movie. But then, I didn't watch the whole thing. Maybe I'm letting my bias against movies in which the community center must be saved hold me back from watching a great comedy. What do you think. Should I watch the rest of it?

American Idol Top 36: Week 2: Adam Lambert Satisfies

2009-02-25T22:16:00.003-05:00

At the top of the show, Ryan asks us, "Where else can you find a welder, a font designer, a teacher, a unicorn, a packet of spearmint gum, and a secretary, all on the verge of stardom?"

Uh, nowhere. Including on American Idol. This is not the verge of stardom. The verge of stardom is way over there and the welder is not even going to get close enough to spray big manly American sparks on it.

Jasmine Murray: Here I've been thinking that Jasmine would go far on this show because Simon called her commercial in her first audition. The last person he called commercial in an audition became the shuddering volcano of money that is Carrie Underwood. She sings "Love Song" as in "I'm not going to write you a..." and I come away believing that Jasmine is actually not going to write me a love song, because she hates me and everyone like me. If Tyra were here, she'd say, "Do pretty angry, not just angry angry!" Randy says it was weird for him, and that song was "not really for you, for me." Kara reminds us that Jasmine is commercial, twice. Paula's posture is promisingly weird. She looks like there's a string attached to the ceiling and the back of her head, and she's hanging from it loosely. The string does not work on keeping her eyelids up. Randy says that he has to agree with Kyle: Jasmine is commercial. Who is Kyle?

Matt GIRAUD: Matt is the dueling piano player. His tape causes us to reflect with longing on his memorable performance of Georgia behind the big keyboard during Hollywood week. We know it's memorable because we keep being reminded of it. He is the soul guy. The blues guy. He comes out in a two-small windbreaker with torn jeans, and sings that Coldplay song about ruling the world. He promises in his tape that he will bring soul to it, but he changes his mind and brings silly runs and goofy dynamics instead. He also does a hideous heel tapping thing that's really embarrassing, and snaps his fingers in his crotch. Gross. The judges hate the performance, tell him he's never allowed to sing anything but Ray Charles for the rest of the show. Paula defends him by pointing out that she saw him bringing what he brought to it. We the viewers can conclude that bringing soul to Coldplay is like bringing real softness to a razorblade. A razorblade is for cutting things off, not for sleeping on. You don't bring softness to it. Matt looks uncomfortable and whines that he wants to sing songs like that. Simon tells him to zip it. Bye Matt Giraud!

Jeanine Vailes: Jeanine's tape reminds us of how marvelous she is except that I don't think we've seen her at all before. Have fun tonight, Jeanine, because you have absolutely no chance! She comes out in denim short shorts and a sequinned tuxedo jacket, and sings "This Love" by Maroon Five. Her gestures and facials communicate to me that she is killing a weasel. She never quite hits the weasel with the pitch, however. The judges hate her, but compliment her legs. In an endless, painful, post-performance interview, Ryan asks the judges if she has a shot, and Paula waffles around... Jeanine fist-pumps and reminds us that she's 28 and has been doing it for 14 years. She is old! Vote for her! She continues to make strangling gestures and laugh while demanding that we vote. Gross. Bye Jeanine Vailes! Desperation is so un-Danny-Gokey.

Nick Mitchell: This is that guy that pretends to be the sparkly and sweatbanded Normund Gentle. He appears in character, red wristbands and all, to sing that Jennifer Hudson song, "You're Gonna Love Me" in a silly way, fondling the Idol logo at one point, changing up the words to be funny. I really like it -- it's way more entertaining than the usual crapfest where someone sings Whitney Houston on a stool or something. Long live Normund Gentle. The judges respond warmly. Paula even opens her eyes a little bit to call him fun and memorable. Simon and Ryan call each other gay. The interview after the performance goes on, again, forever! Paula *literally* says "Blah blah blah blah bloo" and then we have this exchange:

Ryan: Do you think you deserve a spot in the top twelve?
Normund: Ryan, you ask me that so much. Do you think I do?
Ryan: Probably not, but I'm going to give your numbers anyway.

Wow! Alright, Vote-For-The-Worsters, get ready to dial!

Allison Iraheta: Burgundy-haired high-schooler Allison interviews drunkenly about what it's like doing school at Idol. She repeats several time that it's in a room. Actually Allison we were not expecting it to be in a forest glade or anything. But thanks for really recreating the experience for us. She's 16 but sounds like she's spent 30 years drinking gin and smoking unfiltered Marlboros. Also she has some kind of speech impediment or ill-advised cutesiness that's making certain words come out all squanched up. She sings "Alone" by Heart at the top of her lungs. Just listening to it made my throat hurt. Give that kid a lozenge and a chair. Paula says, "Every season there's one contestant and many that can sing the telephone book." She also compliments Allison's twitchy microphone skills. During the post-song interview, Allison makes lots of neck wrinkles and claims not to remember anything. I'm telling you -- drunk as a goat!

Kris Allen: Kris' interview is dull and stupid. Lights, camera, and here comes another one of those awful Members Only type jackets. What are those stupid collars called? And is this all Heath Ledger's fault? This puny little twerp sings Michael Jackson's "Man in the Mirror" like he's on Sesame Street. A couple things, Kris: Boys don't spell it Kris. They spell it Chris. He sings okay. If everyone else male for the rest of the night defecates on the stage, he just might go through. The judges like him. Kris is suffering from Danny Gokey look-alike syndrome. Same hair, same... whiteness. Same butt packed into jeans that are kind of falling down. Maybe confused old women who are in love with Danny Gokey will vote again tonight for Kris? I dunno.

Hey, commercials.

Megan Joy Corkrey: Megan is another mom -- tonight she brings it with her tattoo sleeve and enormous white teeth. Tonight she's wearing a summer dress, patterned tights and flats, and sings "Girl Put Your Records On." She looks like she's having fun, like she wants to do more, and makes us want to hear more. Paula calls her relevant. Simon wants us to vote for her. Randy calls her drop dead. Kara calls her a package artist. She says, "With the right video, you could be very viable in this market." She teaches Ryan how to do "The Corkrey" which involves white fabric roses hanging off your boobs as you shake your booty. Ryan is missing the mark. I think Megan is going to get votes -- it might be mother's night out in the top 12 -- they're going to have to get a daycare for the contestants this year.

Matt Breitzke: Bald guy with goatee storms idol with mild blinking. Matt is going to be singing Tonic's "If you could only see" because he says it "encapsulates true love." His stage gesticulation looks like running in slow motion. Weird, but seriously, watch it on fast forward and it's going to look like he's jogging. He sings like a weenie -- maybe he's nervous? Maybe he's just secretly a poet and cries. Either way, supergross lullaby vibe there. I think that other oil rig guy is going to take up the "lovable big unlikely wow a blue collar idol how charming" spot. This guy is going home. The judges blame it on poor song choice. I blame it on Matt being a weenie-head who can't rock.

Jesse Langseth: Another single mom. Shes 26 and her daughter is 8. She has long red hair, blue eyes, and she sings Bette Davis Eyes by Kim Carnes. Jesse is one of those singers that tilts her head back and off to the side, like it's very extra heavy and she can barely be bothered to keep it upright. I don't know if this song works in the 90 seconds they give it, but it is a great song. No glory note. No revolutionary arrangement. Randy is not excited, and complains about the limited range. Jesse stands there smugly and is like "yes" and "mm-hmm" on everything the judges say, and she comes off as weirdly pushy. Paula calls her cool and says she will always remember her. Simon calls her forgettable.

Kai Kalama: When Kai auditioned, the judges told him to be more confident. He is the guy who takes care of his ailing mother, giving up everything to make her life easier. I'm sure he's wonderfully virtuous, but I like him because he looks like Sayid. He sings, "What Becomes of the Brokenhearted" with weird squinty facials and constipated dance moves. His mother appears to feel a modicum of pride. The judges gave faint praise, and Simon called it a hotel performance, nothing distinct or original, and capable. Randy said it was too safe.

Up next, the homeschooler.

Mishavonna Henson: Some idols get homeschooled after they become famous. This girl was homeschooled before she got on Idol. She was homeschooled the whole time she was trying to be famous as a child actor, getting parts on Frasier and Lifetime movies! So, homeschoolers, line up to... never mind. She sings "Drops of Jupiter" by that one band, or, she delivers the words in the correct sequence (including the whoas and the nanas) without really connecting them in any meaningful way. Paula is not excited -- the reason, people, is that she didn't sing the meaning of the words, she just sang the sounds. Simon calls her cold. The judges need her to loosen up. Mishavonna promises to be supercrazy if we vote for her. I dunno. Prolly not.

Up next, in the pimp spot (or, should we now refer to it as the Gokey spot?) Adam Lambert. Oh, Adam, please do something memorable. We all know you are capable.

Adam Lambert: Adam is all about the musical theater -- and his experience really shows. He kind of looks like a punk rock Ewan McGregor. Like a Jedi academy dropout. He sings "Satisfaction" with real style and aplomb -- and it's like the professional has arrived and the little tennis-shoe-wearing dorks who preceded him were the amateur warm-up band. Very cool. Love him. He is my favorite. The judges rhapsodize about his greatness.

My picks:

Boy: Adam Lambert
Girl: Megan Joy Corkney
Third place: I really hope Allison Iroheta because she's so weird and twitchy. I also urgently hope for Nick Mitchell and his headbands. However, Matt Giraud and Kris Allen are judge favorites and may prevail. Let's hope Vote for the Worst can come through for us and put Normund Gentle into the finals. That would be truly, truly delightful.

American Idol Top 36: Alexis Grace is All Dirtied Up

2009-02-18T13:51:00.005-05:00

I’m back. Did you miss me?

It’s time for that raw, feverish expression of our vibrant collective animus, the reality show we call American Idol. Let the teeth be bared. Let the nails be filed. The lion will get no sleep tonight. This year they’ve changed the process for some reason. I don’t know what all this madness is about 36 finalists, wild card spots, and whatnot, but it sounds like they’re cutting down the number of shows or something. Tomorrow, only the top three from tonight’s 12 acts will go on to the finals. Only the top three, people! The odds are stacked in a way that odds have never been stacked before! Like backwards and sideways at the same time! Holy crap!

Let’s get to the grit.

Jackie Tohn: Here comes that big personality we’ve all heard so much about! Terrible shame that big personality is walking around behind a face shaped like a garden spade. Jackie interviews in a purple quilted jacket with big colorful appliqués. She belts out "Little Less Conversation" spread-legged in lycra pants, high tops, a wide red leather belt, and a hideous strapless v-neck. Wow, Jackie Tohn has her own web site! Do not miss the blog, brilliantly titled "Ramblings" which contains one test post. Also, there is a picture of her on a hammock. Her performance is breathless, strained, shouty, and she follows it up with a lot of “yo” and “dude” and “I’m an entertainer.” Jackie is going home. I’m sure all the three fans of Jackie will be very sad. The judges praise her for jumping around the stage a lot and for having a big shovelly face.

Ricky Braddy: Ricky’s tape shows us that Ricky is a dedicated wearer of cardigans. Tonight, however, he steps out in a too-small purple velvet sport coat, too-small pants, a couple of gruesome colorless facial moles, and that damn microphone must have been dipped in oil or something. He sings some song I don’t know, but I have an awful suspicion that if its mother wanted to categorize it, she’d say it was smooth jazz. Poor Ricky is absolutely going home. The judges foam and rave about his talent and his subtlety and interpretation and amazingness and I guarantee I will not remember him after the next commercial. Hey Ricky’s family, enjoy that domain name. What exactly are they trying to promote? I guess I already forgot.

Let’s talk about for one moment the fact that upstairs in the Coke room Ryan has the parents of the contestants waiting to congratulate them after their performances. This involves each contestant giving mom and dad a big hug with their butts shoved right in the camera. Wow, live TV is so neat and full of butt shots! But seriously, don’t ask the parents how proud they are right now. The answer is “Really proud.” And now, with this new set of parents, the answer is still, “Really proud.”

Hey, we’re back.

Alexis Grace: Alexis is the cute, shy, endearing young mom who the judges encouraged to “dirty up.” Dirtying up apparently involves getting magenta hair streaks and wearing lingerie on stage. Pearls and black nail polish also figure large in Alexis’ new look. Babe, you look like a forty-year-old in a dirty wig. The judges applaud her revision of her character and personality. They declare that she has now got soul. Upstairs, a long-haired potato claiming to be her father cries over her lacy hem.

Brent Keith: Sorry, a country singer is not going to win this year. Nobody cares what you like to do “In a Hick Town” nor do we want to hear songs about it. Your sob story about living paycheck to paycheck and hoping for your big break does not move us. This ha-ha glorification of behaviors that are embraced by denizens of a “hick town” is no longer trendy. You just might be a dumbass. Irrelevant but... huh? It looks like Brent Keith was also a contestant on Nashville Star. Is that the same bloodless fool?

Stevie Wright: Stevie presents with a big old face covered in shining pimples, and chases a Taylor Swift bubble gum pop song all over the map with disastrous results. It’s like watching a tired brown dog with one leg try and climb a ladder while smiling and winking at a big sparkly camera. Totally terrible. The judges slam her. Mom reminds Ryan that she’s sixteen. Stevie is all done here.

Anoop Desai: I had a lot of hope for Anoop as a character, but he sort of limps through this R&B song a little sharp, and his hand is visibly shaking. I think he might have said “Blahbeddy bloo” instead of the real words at one point. That’s never a good sign, dawg. Paula says that America has connected with Anoop, but Sanjaya he is not.

Casey Carlson: Casey is a fembot, yo. Fembots have good pop appeal, but Casey’s facial wiring is malfunctioning in a way that is positively Palin. She sings “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic” looking like she's trying to dislodge an insect from her nose. You know what though, not even the aged and reproductive Palin had those weird forehead wrinkles that make a cute little nose-wrinkle turn into a demonic possession. The judges hated it. Her mombot hugs her and repeats “Love you dearly” and “Yay Casey!” a bunch of times while Casey inches away. Bye Casey!

Michael Sarver: Michael works on an oil rig as a roughneck, as we all bloody well know by now. He sings “I Don’t Wanna Be” by Gavin McGraw, and somewhere Bo Bice rolls his eyes, shrugs and takes another puff of whatever that thing is in his hand. Unfortunately, Michael plays it like a damn chump. What’s with the smiling, winking, and nose crinkling? First Casey, and now this. Michael looks fat and nervous, spends the song behind the beat, and apes like a toddler in a beauty pageant. Upstairs, he disappoints Ryan by hand-signing his numbers for the camera. Ryan says, “Look at you; you’re that guy, showing your numbers for the camera.” And you were expecting?

Kara sucks as a judge. Who cares?

Ann Marie Koskovich: This is the girl the judges sent out of the audition room to change her clothes and put some makeup on. She sings “Natural Woman” and blows it out pretty well, I think. Pretty blue dress, shiny swingy hair, no cute little faces. I like her. The judges hate it. When she goes upstairs, she plops down on the sofa and a crackling noise comes out of her butt. She says, “I sat down right on the hard part!” and then gives a couple of confusing thumbs ups. Ryan, rattled or irritated – can’t tell which, goes straight to the numbers, foregoing all the “How proud are you right now? I mean, to see her, there on that stage, how proud are you?”

Our local news teaser informs me that the Facebook TOS is problematic, and that the tool in the velvet jacket is a local. OH my goodness.

Stephen Fowler: Stephen Fowler is a black dude with an amazing head of wild curls. He is not that cadaverous white guy from Wife Swap who made fun of Missouri and told that small-town woman that people like her were needed to feed the military. You remember, the guy who wore the “GREEN FOREVAH” t-shirts all through the show and then embarrassed himself and Greens everywhere by tittering with his kids over the fact that the Missouri woman hadn’t heard of Umberto Eco and was therefore talking to her is like burning coal to toast Twinkies at a Walmart corporate retreat. Anyway, Stephen Fowler sings Michael Jackson in a dumb way and the judges hate it. Bye Stephen Fowler!

Tatiana Del Toro: I violently hate this person. I will be so glad when she is off the show, but I have an awful feeling she is here to stay. She appears in a beach towel and sings “Saving All My Love For You” as if she’s in a wind machine. Kara wonders where she will fit in, in the industry, and Tatiana answers, “I fit in everywhere. It’s world music.” Simon calls her a drama queen and she says she just wants to market herself. Her exact words: “That’s what I desire.” After Ryan gives her numbers, she says, “America, please vote. This is my dream and it’s up to you to keep it alive.” I no longer wonder who “Vote for the Worst” is sponsoring this year.

Danny Gokey: Danny’s wife is newly dead and he’s a church music director. He will, in fact, make it to the finals. He sings “Hero” by Mariah Carey and does great. That’s your top vote-getter, right there. Kara shouts that Danny gives “us all hope.” Paula says, “I have two words with a hyphen: sold-out arenas.” Simon passes on the hype, and also on the shirts that have something crawling up over the left shoulder. Or maybe there just aren’t any left in wardrobe after the contestants got done choosing their outfits for tonight.

Top guy: Danny Gokey
Top girl: Alexis Grace
Third Spot: Tatiana Del Toro

The only reason Tatiana will not get the third spot tonight is if they’re keeping her for the wild card. Which is entirely possible.

Wait by Frank Turner Hollon

2009-01-23T11:34:00.002-05:00

This is not a review. It's a reaction. There are spoilers. If you want a review, here it is: Wait is a worthwhile novel from an interesting mind, that will make you think about your soul, and the state of it, and the reasons why your soul may be in that state. It will make you look around your life with a new, healthy suspicion, and try to imagine your spouse with a gun in his hand, standing there blankly, ready to pull the trigger. So there's your review. Go get the book, and read it, and come back here and talk to me about it.

Frank Turner Hollon has written the life story of Early Winwood, a guy you might pass on the street without noticing, a character you might not think was worthy of having a novel written about him. A regular guy. The difference between Early and most regular guys is that right in the middle of the book, after living through a few dozen unremarkable years, Early does something very remarkable: he kills a man. Then, later, he kills another one.

This book is telling me one of two things. No, there are no other interpretations:

1. The narrator is unreliable. The book is psychological study that takes us deep under cover in the mind of a murderer, to show us how he, twisted and inhuman as he is, sees himself as normal, fitting snugly into the fabric of society. I have two bits of evidence for this interpretation. First, the ambiguity of his relationship to Kate Shepherd, and the fact that this drug user turned model citizen at one point tells the court he is a kidnapper and a stalker. The second is the way the murders really fail to haunt the guy, at least fail to haunt him to the extent that a murder would haunt me. Or maybe a murder wouldn't really haunt me that much, which brings me to possibility #2.

2. Early is a murderer, and Early is an average guy. Both. One does not preclude the other. Murder is closer to you than you think it is, reader, and only a thin hair of opportunity and impetus stands between you and the act itself. Looking back on the book, this explanation seems more elegant. It is as if the whole plot of this man's life was constructed to be a doughy, bland container for that one act of violence, so that the blandness leaks into the violence, and makes it ordinary, all part of the whole.

I don't know which one is the correct reading but I hope it's two. It's not that I agree with him, in fact I don't like the idea that we're all base, we're all murderers, we're all that low, as vile as the least of us is vile. I don't agree. But I think that makes the more perfect novel, and I've never read a book constructed like this, with so much fire-retardant wadding packed around a fuel cell on fire.

The book fails me in a couple of ways -- the second "murder" doesn't seem to fit either of my explanations, and it blurs the lines of what's a reasonable excuse to commit the crime. I was disappointed also a little bit in the lesser characters, in Early's fake son and fake daughter. I never knew what lens I was seeing them through, and Early's take on it seemed more suspect when he was describing these relationships than it did when he was talking about Kate.

Ultimately, a very interesting book and a book that worked my brain. I will have to try another by this author.

Sin in the Second City by Karen Abbott

2009-01-16T09:10:00.007-05:00

There are two fine lines that Abbott had to navigate when writing Sin in the Second City, a historical account of the Everleigh Club, the fanciest and most infamous brothel in Chicago at the turn of the century.

The first line is between two moral positions.

Abbott has two heroines here: Minna and Ada Everleigh, the jewel-encrusted madams who elevated their little corner of the vice district beyond the dirty dance hall and onto a level of elegance and sophistication that attracted millionaire visitors and international attention. Minna and Ada are characters that the author clearly loves. As we follow their story from a mysterious lowly past to their glorious position as quiet, powerful queens of vice in a vicious city, we are invited to fall in love with them as well. There are pimps and madams that we can scorn, lesser characters who live down the street from the Everleighs, who run shitty dives and beat their girls, drug their customers and stick to their own floors. But the Everleighs are a different breed: smart, ethical, pure.

If the Everleighs are the heroes, then the villains must be the reformers, the demonstrators and politicians who were trying to eliminate the vice district and "save" the girls who had "fallen" there as prostitutes. Among the characters on this team are pastors and evangelists, pious ladies, and also city officials trying to look good and crack down on crime. The problem with villainizing this side of the fight is that they actually did have a point. The danger with making a madam your hero is that there actually was a lot of horrifying stuff going on in these houses, stuff you don't want to cheer for, and can't fall in love with.

So, as a writer, do you position yourself with the madams, and giggle and titter your way through the book, pretending it's all so naughty and wry, and those stuffy old reformers are just party poopers? Or do you position yourself with the reformers, and spend the book pushing out that really new and interesting concept that prostitution is bad? Maybe there's a third solution, to just report what happened, be historically accurate, and educate us all so we can make... oh, wait, I just fell asleep while suggesting that as an option. So, none of those are books that I would want to read.

Fortunately, Abbott is smart. Very smart. And her smart book can present all these possibilities simultaneously. This is not an expose of the horrors of segregated vice in turn of the century Chicago. Nor is this a blushing homage to all those fabulous madams and the sexual excesses of the times. No one is exempt from criticism here. Abbott tells the stories of those vainglorious preachers and the hypocritical politicians, but also shines an unforgiving fluorescent light into the depths of vice: the strip-and-whip fights where girls lashed each other bloody for an audience, the girl's palm rotting from syphilis while still performing its handjob, the lies, the greed, the corruption, and all of it.

No one is exempt, that is, except the Everleighs themselves. In understanding this, I began to understand where the moral compass of the book truly points. I believe that Abbott would say that the sins of the vice district were black enough -- the sins of the white slavers and the opium dealers and the lower madams operating their 50 cent dives. The Everleighs, however, weren't doing anything very wrong, and in shutting down their clean, sophisticated, elegant club, where the men were treated fairly and the girls lined up to get a job, where the health and well being of the harlots was a priority and the customers were treated like customers, not sinners, the authorities threw the baby out with the bathwater. That is, I think, the way the book gets out of its predicament.

This moral subtlety allows the book to transcend that "choice" between the whores and the reformers, and allows the story of the characters to flourish without the weight of a judgment or the tension of the absence of judgment.

The second line that Abbott dances down is a literary one. She is, of course, telling the true story of actual people, and the research that went into this book is amazing. One look at the bibliography and your jaw will drop. However, there are things that cannot be known from research. The biographer's job is to tell the story in an engaging way that will live on the page, without embellishing the facts too much, to navigate between too strict a focus on reality and too fanciful an elaboration. Abbott accomplishes this brilliantly. Everything in quotation marks, in the book, was actually said by the real Everleighs, or other characters, and recorded in court documents, journals, or letters. But Abbott's story goes beyond the bare facts and delivers a prose that reads like fiction. None of the "we can't possibly know" or "it's unclear" but loads of vibrant descriptions, delightful details, and a narrative sense that really brings the landscape of the levee to life.

Sin in the Second City exploded my expectations. You know I loves me some violated dichotomies, yo. By defying the obvious choices, and creating her own rules, Abbott pays the Everleigh sisters great honor by putting them in the context they deserve.

Golden Globes 2009 Recap: What Grew Out of Beyonce's Neck?

2009-01-11T21:30:00.004-05:00

Without any fanfare, the Golden Globes are on! No musical number, no host, no montage, just presenters trying to shut up the diners guzzling champagne at their big round tables. Jennifer Lopez takes the stage in a golden diaper. Dear J-Lo, when you broke out in the Grecian goddess look the first time, we all applauded. The second time, we thought, hey, cool, it's her thing. Now, many years later, gazing upon your slicked back hair and your draped pelvis, we're tired of it. Maybe you could do something else. I suggest high tech. Hey, the Golden Globes are in HD! It's awesome! Amy Adams looks completely perfect and adorable and dewy. She looks about 12!

Best Supporting Actress, Movie: I pick: Amy Adams, and I swear she said she was 17! Winner: Kate Winslet. Kate Winslet is aging beautifully. She also looks completely buff and thin. She reads well from a white piece of paper. Her husband is hairy in the face, and looks like he realizes how lucky he is. Oh my goodness! I didn't realize she was married to Sam Mendes. She addresses her children, and it's cute.

Sting is introduced as a composer and social activest. He is similarly hairy in the face. Dan says, "It's Grizzly Sting."

Best Original Song: I pick Bruce Springsteen. Winner: Bruce Springsteen. Bruce and Sting awkwardly hug and Bruce giggles. Is that Mickey Rourke in a pimp costume? Mickey Rourke is wearing, and I am not kidding, purple satin and sequins, nails filed into points, and blonde streaks on nutbrown hair. Mickey Rourke has lost his mind.

Best Supporting Actor, TV Comedy: My pick: Anyone but Jeremy Pivens. Winner: That British guy that always plays the dad in stuff, for his portrayal of Thomas Jefferson in some TV movie. You remember him, he was Mr. Dashwood.

Best Supporting Actress, TV Drama: My pick: Anyone but that girl from Treatment. Not Diane Wiest, the other one. Winner: Laura Dern. Laura Dern takes the stage in a really pretty and modest homecoming dress, hair as fabulous as a kindergarten teacher at lunch. I mean, seriously, I think she has a scrunchy in her hair.

You know what? Burn After Reading was not that great. Brad Pitt's surprise violence was the highlight of the movie. Not to give things away but when a man's face getting punched and shot is the bright spot of a film, you are one step ahead of a fart movie.

Tonight, there are two types of neck. Those adorned with nothing but the modest sweat of a proud female whose earnest work has paid out in honor, and those thick with massive ropes of jewelry. The jewels are IN. We want big chokers, drizzly Egyptian style necklaces. Beyonce Knowles' necklace is like a big diamond daisy with her head being the slick, fruity stamen, and we LOVE IT. Steven and Marty agree, okay? We are over the "economic downturn" look. Except for you, J-Lo. You need to step away from the body shimmer.

Best Supporting Actor, TV Drama: My pick: Anyone on earth but Gabriel Byrne. Winner: Gabriel Byrne. I'm so sorry, people but I freakin' hate that show. Treatment, you know what you did, and I hope you're sorry. Gabriel Byrne isn't even there to pick up his award for looking emotionally constipated. What a blow to the art of film-making.

Best Actress, TV Drama: My pick: Whichever one is not in the audience and therefore cannot speak. Winner: Anna Paquin. I've never seen any of these shows. Now I have been bored into a coma by Anna Paquin's navy blue "gown" and her refusal to wear neck jewelry. Nothing is working for her -- the shape of her head, the kindergarten-picture-seagull eyebrows, the gap in the teeth, the weirdly orange "gold" cuff bracelet.

Um, I just saw Drew Barrymore in the audience. She looks like an angel wearing a cloud. Drew, I love you.

Outstanding Animated Feature: My pick: Wall-E. Winner: Wall-E. So deserved! Wall-E was awesome. Not to say that I didn't deeply enjoy Kung Fu Panda. I did. But Wall-E was beautiful. The director says, "I love you to my family and my kids. You inspire every emotion that I try to capture on screen." That's kind of nice!

Best Actress in a Comedy Movie: Wow, Johnny Depp looks young again. I guess he is over the haunted meth addict look. Emma Thompson looks rather radiant too. She is probably still on the meth though. You know Emma. I'm so distracted by Johnny Depp's youthful appearance that I forget to make a pick, but that girl from Happy Go Lucky wins it. She seems delightfully pleased. She's wearing a giant skirt with one of those meshy leotardy tops. Everyone's makeup looks so wonderful; I love the HD! Also the very close, strange, realistic sound. Emma Thompson looks beautiful and happy in a nice shawl. Marisa Tomei looks hectic in a sort of cardigan.

Jake Gyllenhaal has no blood in his face. He looks like he shot someone and he's scared we'll notice. Go home, Jake. Hide the body.

Wow, Drew Barrymore is now presenting. She looks completely fantastic. I think she's presenting something about TV, but the misty blue layers of her dress, so fluffy and yet so fitted, are too beguiling. I cannot care or notice what she's saying. There does seem to be some kind of skeletal husk, maybe a future echo of her own dear self, but clad in black and with more veins on her forehead, standing beside her. It speaks occasinoally. Tom Hanks accepts an award.

Look! It's Demi Moore! We all know now that this is a dress that made Rachel Zoe die. She dies, right? It's so bananas that she died. Do you die? She died, because Demi killed it. There's a kind of leash wrapped around her throat with grommets in it. I fail to die. I'm sure it looked better on a giraffe in fashion week.

Best Supporting Actor, Comedy: Heath Ledger wins. And he is dead. I'm sure he will appreciate the standing ovation. I know I do. Everyone loves honoring a dead guy with an award. It makes the whole thing seem so damn meaningful. Here's my cold confession: I didn't think he did that great of a job as the Joker. Sorry, it had to be said. The person accepting the award said, "After Heath passed on, you see a hole ripped in the future of cinema." Okay, yes, Brokeback Mountain. But also... A Knight's Tale. Okay? Some of us do remember.

Hi! It's Tom Brokaw!

Hi! It's Maggie Gyllenhaal in a chiton made out of blue leopard print. I am not even kidding. I wish I could say that it was not chiton made of blue leopard or that she did not have robin's egg blue eye shadow on or some kind of grapes dangling from her ears.

Laura Linney has won something. She is firmly in the Drew Barrymore camp of gauzy and fitted floaty gowns. Hers is butter yellow. She looks actually completely awesome. The other one who looked pretty darn young and radiant was Catherine Keener.

Best Screenplay: Dr. Dorian's girlfriend is presenting from the "jeweled choker, yo, economy bite my botts!" camp. She's wearing a faux chenille gown with a corset top. Totally gross. But she has one of those lovely plastic-looking cleavages. I have to say I'm completely impressed with how great everyone looks in HD. For the record, I completely don't know what any of those movies were or who won.

AMY POEHLER IS PRESENTING! You can't spell presenting without REPRESENT! Okay, well, you can, but I love her.

Best Actor, TV Comedy: Nominated are Alec Baldwin and Steve Carrell and David Duchovny and two other dumb guys. ALEC BALDWIN WINS! AND BEATS MONK! Alec Baldwin absolutely should have won, this was fairness on a biscuit, if only for that scene where he plays all of the family members of Tracy Morgan, all at the same time. That scene was my super fave.

Renee Zellwegger presents, wearing a Morticia Adams style gown and a spiderweb on her head. No, we will not take you seriously as a goth. It is not stately. It is not glam. Rethink it.

Best Actor, something something: Apparently, this "Recount" movie was really big. Super. Yet Paul Giamatti wins for playing John Adams. Was this some kind of miniseries or something?

Best TV Series Comedy: Glenn Close is presenting in a gold brocade Japanese top and gold pants. It's like if Jennifer Lopez' outfit went off to the senior center to have a swim and some clever seventy-year-old amazed all her teeth-clacking friends by sewing it into a pantsuit. Winner: 30 Rock. Tina Fey looks like Liz Lemon would look. Tracy Jordan speaks for the show, announcing that Tina Fey agreed to make him the show spokesman if Barack Obama won. He sounds like Tracy Jordan would sound. Oh, it's all so just.

I feel like I want to take a break and watch something else for a while. I mean, are we really discussing the relative charms of Mamma Mia and a movie about the Holocaust? Pierce Brosnan is completely drunk. Too drunk to read. Meryl Streep does a cannonball into the ocean.

Best Soundtrack: Slumdog Millionaire. Wow, people are standing! Who is this guy? He looks so small, and yet, he causes such a stir. Sorry, small Indian man, but pulling out an index card makes me push fast forward.

Best Actress TV Comedy: Christina Applegate is wearing a beautiful, beautiful, amazing necklace. It's flowers, in a chain, irregularly sized, assymetrical, and kind of gold/silver. Beautiful. You know whose hair I want? I want Mary Louise Parker's hair. I wonder how long it takes her to get that just-fought-a-war-in-the-wind look? I love it. Tina Fey wins, and now has to speak. She's wearing a dress cut down to her waist with a shawl collar around the back that looks like a robot part. She is a funny lady.

I fell asleep for a moment and missed something. Someone directed something, but look! Here is Sigourney Weaver. She has very stiff, very purposefully frayed bob, and she's wearing a dress like you might wear to a museum luncheon, except it's two feet too long.

Best Actor Movie Comedy: Sandra Bullock wears a faux chenille chiton in white. No neck jewels. Colin Farrell wins. He's holding onto the kitten head hairdo with both hands, people. It may have gone out with 90210 but he's never giving in.

Penelope Cruz is wearing taupe. Hey, hold on. Can you think of one person, one measeley little feeble person who wore an actual color tonight? It's all about the cream, the white, the black... can we we find any color in the crowd?

Best Picture Comedy: Winner: Vicky Christina Barcelona. Congratulations Woody Allen! Hey, Woody Allen directing that huge airgun guy from No Country for Old Men -- I have to see this movie. Javier! You slay me! It looks like I want to see Slumdog Millionaire too.

Best Actress Movie Drama: Well HELLO Cameron Diaz in pink! A warm pink, even rose. Who cares that her hair looks blue/grey! She presents with Mark Wahlberg. Winner: Kate Winslet. How nice! She hugs her hair husband and cries. Does this mean she won the best supporting *and* the best actress? No one can believe it! Her nose is turning red! No, don't cry! Read your little paper! Ooo, when she was mentioning the other nominees she forgot Angelina Jolie and then said, "Oh, God, who's the other one!?" Hahaha. Now she's telling Leonardo DiCaprio how much she loves him. It's all very breathless.

Best Somethingorother on TV: Madmen! Never seen it, no idea what it's about, don't care. Someone wearing red is onstage though -- red tulle no less. Oh, it's Zoe Bartlett! How pale of her. Well, I shouldn't complain. I did ask for color. Good for me -- I got it in the freakin' eye.

Best Actor Movie Drama: Hold me, they're showing Mickey Rourke again! Oh, CRAP -- he won. I'm trying to stuff myself under the sofa at this point. He literally FELL up the stage. Fell as in drunkenly, folks. Okay, now if we must, we can truly analyze the outfit. Black sequinned scarf. Purple satin lapeels on a velvet sport coat. Amber plastic glasses. Greasy hair with blonde streaks. Moustache and tiny goatee. Faux tan. Brown silk pocket square. He is using bad grammar on purpose. And the chisel that split my skull was one of those wallet chain things, attached to his belt buckle and winding around to his ass. Oh, the pain. The pain of it all. He keeps saying "balls" and "son of a bitch" and referencing his recent down-and-out status. We get it. You've been through the wringer and you came out in purple and black sparkles. Glorious.

Best Picture Drama: Slumdog Millionaire.

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Two Messages on the Side of an Ice Cream Stand

2008-08-15T22:10:00.002-04:00